


MY BETTER HALF

by Nikki66



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arguing, Cover Art, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Fanart, Feels, Fluff, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 157,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8313238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikki66/pseuds/Nikki66
Summary: When Anders loses his powers, Fenris is reluctantly cast into the role of his protector.Having lost everything he holds dear, will Anders realize what long-closed doors are now open to him?Will Fenris, pulled along in Anders’ journey, discover something he never thought he could have?Very slow burn, absolutely Fenders.(Cover art by lolbatty in Chapter 40. Story artwork by FarseerDri is embedded within chapters, and reduced in size for ease of viewing on mobile devices. Full-sized story art displayed in Chapter 41).





	1. Reluctant Savior

**Author's Note:**

> Anders’ life journey is tragic. He lost so much, and it’s not so surprising he made some of the choices he did. It’s also not surprising to learn his true feelings about joining with Justice.  
> I wanted to explore what his life might be like, if he was able to revisit his life, without magic. This is not a time-travel story, nor an AU in which he never had magic. This is a story in which a change in circumstances will leave Anders faced with possibilities.  
> This is also a story of Fenris finding that which he never knew he lacked, and healing his vast history of trauma. Make no mistake, Fenris suffered in his slavery.  
> The major role religion plays in Thedas is explored, as well. Anders has strong faith, his manifesto proves that. Fenris begins exploring faith in the game. I take it from there....  
>  _This story has been revised from its original publication. Unfortunately, my writing in the first version left room for a few readers to misinterpret certain dialogue. So, I pulled the story, reworked it to better represent my vision, and reposted. Sadly, in pulling the original, thousands of views, and hundreds of wonderful comments and kudos were lost. Those original comments still exist in my inbox, and I treasure them!_

Fenris had once heard a saying: That which does not kill you, makes you stronger. He was inclined to agree. Anders preferred to alter the adage slightly, saying: That which does not kill you, bloody well hurts.

Fenris had to accede to that; it was often true. But, he’d also found the greatest strength grew from that which was most painful. When Danarius had ordered him to kill the Fog Warriors, his complicity had been his greatest shame, and greatest heartache. Yet, it had also brought him the strength to finally run from his master, and forge a life of his own.

Certainly Anders, after having felt the pain of his greatest loss, found the strength to build a new life, as well as recover the life which had been taken from him, so long ago. He insisted it was Fenris who had given him the strength to do so, but the elf knew better. Strength came from within. It was Anders’ own doing; his pain, his strength, his revival. Fenris had just been along for the ride. Not willingly, at first. In the beginning, he’d been a reluctant passenger.

For, Fenris was no nursemaid. He’d played many roles during his time as a slave, but healer was not among them. Yet, there he’d found himself, with no recourse, save to deal with the problem set before him.

It had been Hawke’s fault.

Hawke had been preparing for his trip to Chateau Haine. He’d chosen his group, and neither Fenris nor the abomination were among those debarking on the extended trip. Not that Fenris minded. Staying in Kirkwall was certainly preferable to spending that long in close contact with the mage, had they been asked to go. What he minded was the favor Hawke asked of him.

“Keep an eye on Anders, while we’re gone, will you? With Varric away, his contacts in the underworld may decide the clinic’s open game.”

“Have someone else do it. I’ve no mind to pay visits to the abomination.”

“Who? Merrill? Sebastian? Merrill will get herself killed walking through Darktown alone, and Sebastian would likely turn Anders over to the templars while I’m gone. Come on, Fenris. Consider this repayment for helping you kill-off Hadriana.”

In spite of the barb he felt in that statement, Fenris relented. “Bah. Fine. You ask much of me, Hawke.”

“Great! Just look in on him each evening. You’ll be going to the Hanged Man anyway, won’t you? Swing by the clinic, make sure everything’s fine, and be on your way. I’m not asking you to sit in vigil. Just make sure he’s alive.”

Fenris kept his promise. He didn’t know why Hawke was so concerned about the mage. He rarely took him on missions, anymore. Hawke rarely needed more than himself to manage the magic side of things. When he did, of late he chose the blood mage. For whatever reason, Hawke had begun seeing Merrill, and seemed deeply enamored of the witch. Fenris bridled at the thought, but tried to put it out of his mind.

So, each evening, he cruised through Darktown, peeked in the door of the clinic, and headed to the tavern. It was more than a ‘swing by’. The clinic was a good distance out of his way. But, to be honest, Fenris had little else to do. When not working with Hawke, his days were free. Going to the Hanged Man in the evening was quiet. With Varric, Aveline, and Isabella gone with Hawke, it was a small gathering. Sebastian or Donnic was usually there. Anders might show up on the odd occasion. Merrill tended to be scarce, which suited Fenris just fine.

When the abomination did put in an appearance, he was surprisingly subdued. He seemed distracted, picking at his food or drink, and seldom joined in the conversation unless spoken to directly. Fenris didn’t care for Anders’ company, but at least he was less offensive in his new reserve.

Fenris had expected that particular evening to go much as the previous week’s had. As the sun set, he’d descended into the darkness. The under-city was filthy and fetid, as always. Summer in the Free Marches was muggy, and one might think it was cooler in the underground. It wasn’t. Fenris strode through the camps and shanties, the sight of his armor and blade enough to keep thugs at bay.

Then, it all went awry. As he approached the last staircase up to the clinic, he paused. The sound of fighting could be heard, echoing from one of the secret entrances into the deep sewers. More worrisome, the reverberating voice of Anders’ demon carried clearly.

“YOU SHALL NOT HAVE HIM! FEEL THE BURN OF JUSTICE!”

Sprinting to the open entrance, he dropped through. Immediately, he saw three templars facing-off against Anders. Justice advanced on them; eyes glowing, light flaring through rents in his skin. In a blaze of light, the men screamed in pain and terror. Their cries abruptly cut-off as their flesh melted from their bones; their armor turned to molten metal.

The demon turned toward Fenris, his movement catching the glowing eyes. Before either could make a move or speak a word, a figure appeared behind Anders’ glowing form. A remaining templar rushed forward, arm raised to strike at the abomination’s turned back.

Fenris leapt forward, blade swinging, as the templar thrust a slim wand at the back of Anders’ neck. Justice’s light blazed blindingly as he screamed. Even as Fenris clove the templar’s head from his body, the demon’s light snuffed, and Anders collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

Carefully approaching the fallen abomination, Fenris nudged him with his foot. Anders didn’t move, but he was breathing. The elf looked for the weapon the templar had held. It looked like a branding iron, though cool to the touch. The business end was imbedded with lyrium. He recognized the brand; it was in the shape of a small sunburst.

_“Venhedis....”_

Fenris used a clawed finger of his gauntlet to brush aside the long hair at the back of Anders’ neck. Clearly emblazoned on the fair skin, just below the line of hair-growth, was a Tranquil brand.

_“Fasta vass!”_

The brand was usually placed on the forehead. Did it matter where it was administered? When the mage awoke, would he be Anders, or an emotionless puppet? Fenris’ gut churned. He would not have wished this on the mage, regardless of their rivalry. He tried to rouse him, but no amount of slapping or pinching had any effect. He remained unresponsive.

What should he do? What could he do? There was no cure for Tranquility. Fenris had no one to whom to turn. No one could do anything any more than he could. He couldn’t leave him here. Leaving him in the clinic was no safer. Odds were, more templars would come looking for these four... three of whom were now puddles of liquid flesh and metal. And, he’d promised Hawke he’d look out for the mage.

He sighed. He really had no option other than take him back to his mansion; at least until he woke. After that... well, he had no idea. After that would depend on what, exactly, Anders awoke as. If he awoke, at all.

Fenris looked at the carnage surrounding him. He’d seen the aftermath of many battles, with many foes. But, this... this was gruesome. Kneeling beside him, he pulled the unconscious man over his shoulder in a rescue carry. He was surprised how little he weighed, for his height. Fenris bundled the mage out of the sewers, across town, and into his mansion.

Once he had Anders lying on a bed in an empty room, he was at a loss. The mage didn’t look injured or ill. Except for the Tranquil brand on his neck, and being completely unresponsive, he seemed fine.

Did mages who were made Tranquil lapse unconscious, like this? If so, for how long? If Anders wasn’t Tranquil, was the demon still inside him? Would he burst forth into a full-blown, mindless abomination when he woke? That question gave him pause. The image of liquified templars filled his mind. Leaving the room, Fenris searched through the many crates still stacked throughout the mansion. It had been used by Danarius’ slavers, after all. Sure enough, he found a box with restraints.

He cautiously removed the mages’ boots and outer robes, and locked a cuff to a wrist and an ankle, chaining him to the bedframe. It was then he realized just how underweight Anders was. Whatever he did with his time, eating wasn’t it. He rubbed his face. He didn’t particularly enjoy slapping slave cuffs on the man, but liked the idea of Justice running amuck in the mansion even less. He stood listlessly, wondering what else to do. He decided he’d done all he could. There was nothing left but to wait.

He dragged a crate next the bed and sat. He sighed irritably. This was not what he had envisioned when he’d agreed to look in on the damned mage. This should be Hawke’s problem, not his. Hawke was the one who actually liked the apostate. He scowled. Hawke seemed to like too many people.

There had been a time, a couple years past, when Fenris had thought Hawke particularly liked him. Indeed, there had been a single night when Hawke had seduced the elf to his bed, after helping Fenris defeat Hadriana. Overcome by the emotions of the day, and beguiled by the thought Hawke found him worthy of interest, Fenris had followed the man’s lead. In spite of the fact Hawke was a mage, in spite of the near-rivalry that crackled between them, Hawke had given Fenris a night such as he’d never imagined.

O

And, the very next morning, had ended it. Never mind Fenris had done the same. He'd been simply overwhelmed by the intimacy, by the memories that had surfaced during the night. It seemed Hawke had not placed the same significance on their night together as he had. The mage, capricious as always, had simply wanted a good time, and that done, had moved on.

Fenris watched the unmoving mage, idly smoothing the length of fabric wrapped about his right wrist. He’d kept it, and the Hawke family crest at his hip, as a sign of his continued devotion. Somehow, it comforted him. It reminded him that, for one night, Fenris had warranted his attentions. He couldn’t deny the feelings Hawke engendered in him.

As the evening became night, and the mage showed no change, Fenris threw a moth-eaten pillow on the floor, and lay across the doorway. Hopefully, if worse came to worse, should Justice emerge and attack, the chains would give him time to either escape, or put the demon down.

After a long night on the hard floor, Fenris awoke to find Anders had not moved. Fenris repeated his actions of the day before, slapping and pinching the mage to elicit a response. Nothing. He needed to wake, to drink, to eat, to leave Fenris’ home and go back to his filthy hovel. Fenris grumbled. Unless and until that occurred, he was duty-bound to ensure the mage’s well-being.

This was not his arena. Fenris didn’t make people well, he made them dead. He’d only known one healer in his life, and he was currently chained to the bed. Should he be doing more? He was of no mind to coddle the mage, but he wouldn’t want Hawke to think he hadn’t done whatever was in his power. He thought of what Anders himself had done, when caring for members of their party.

Varric had once taken a hefty dose of venom from a giant spider, and spent the better part of a day paralyzed. Potions and healing magic could only do so much. Making camp on the Wounded Coast, the group had waited while Anders attended the dwarf. He'd had made a point of repositioning him every so often. He’d said it prevented fluid build-up in the lungs, and skin sores. And, even though Varric had seemed to be completely unaware of his surroundings, Anders had spoken to him. In a calm, casual voice, he’d explained what he was going to do, talked of inane topics. He’d explained that people who seem unaware, often hear and feel perfectly well.

Fenris shrugged. It couldn’t hurt, and he was stuck here until the mage awakened, anyway. Feeling mildly foolish, he spoke to the unconscious man, explaining what he intended to do. Maker knew he, himself, had been manhandled and shackled without warning or consent. Carefully sliding his arms under him, he shifted Anders to lie on one side. Fenris checked the skin at the back of his neck for any changes in the brand. None, so far. His skin was cool. The mansion often felt chilly, even in the summer. Fenris gathered blankets from his own bed, one for the mage, and one for himself.

He spent the day sitting beside the mage’s bed. He ate the bread and cheese he had on hand. He told stories Donnic and Sebastian had relayed over dinner and cards. He thumbed through the book by Shartan Hawke had given him. He couldn’t read it, but he enjoyed the drawings sprinkled throughout the pages. Every few hours, he changed the mage’s position; Anders remaining unresponsive.

As the sun began to lower in the afternoon, a ray crept past the curtained window. Fenris had run out of things to talk about, and sat in a pleasant haze in the afternoon warmth. When the sunbeam fell on the mage’s hair, it lit a myriad of colors in his tousled tresses. Primarily reddish-blonde, it was a veritable palette of color; copper, gold, russet. Fenris had never noticed, before. It was rather appealing.

The shape of the brand showed through the colorful hair. He remembered once, asking Anders why his friend had been made Tranquil. The mage had replied with an angry retort. Fenris had truly only been curious. Of course, it ended up a small spat, as most of their interactions did. Both Hawke and Anders said death was preferable to Tranquility. Anders had even given the death-blow to his friend, rather than consign him to life as an emotionless puppet.

Fenris would not take on that duty, himself. If Anders awoke Tranquil, he’d simply have to wait for Hawke to return to make that call. For all his dislike of the man, he preferred it not come to that. He’d rather the irritating mage woke as his irritating self, and went back to his irritating life, far from Fenris’ mansion.

Another night spent on the hard floor, waiting for Anders to stir. Waking at dawn, Fenris stretched the kinks out of his spine, and made his way to his patient's bed, ready to begin another day of sitting, talking, and turning.

“It’s morning, mage. Time to turn over.” He slid his arms under Anders’ body, and stopped in surprise. Anders was awake, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Fenris looked at the open eyes, both relief and concern coursing through him.

“Mage?”

Anders' voice, barely audible, replied. “What’s happening to me?”

Fenris leaned over him, face to face. He gazed into the light brown eyes below him. “Mage... are you... you?”

Anders frowned. Fenris thought that was a good sign. Tranquil didn’t frown, he was certain. The subdued voice answered again.

"Who else would I be?”

“Perhaps, your demon? Or... Tranquil?”

“Tranquil?” Anders' face filled with confusion. Another good sign, Fenris hoped. “Am I Tranquil?”

Fenris sat back, and began unlocking the cuffs on Anders’ wrist and ankle. “You tell me. What do you feel?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must feel something. Search yourself.”

The mage frowned, again. “I feel like I need the loo.”

He led him from the room, and pointed to the door. No matter what trauma life produced, bladder and bowel always reigned supreme. When Anders emerged, Fenris directed him into his own room to sit on a bench before the fire. He began assembling bread and cheese for them both.

“Do you feel your demon?”

“He’s not a demon....” the mage’s voice was faint, confused.

“I don’t care. Do you feel him?”

Anders’ face showed intense concentration. “No.”

“Do you remember anything before waking here?”

“Your voice.”

“Before that.”

“Working in the clinic?”

“You were overwhelmed by templars. Justice emerged. He killed three, but the fourth put the Tranquil brand on the back of your neck before I cut him down.”

“The brand?” Anders’ hand tentatively felt his neck. “Is there a mirror?”

“Wait here.”

Fenris found the pile of broken mirror-pieces in a room further down the hall. He brought back two, handing a smaller one to the mage.

“Hold that up, you can see the reflection in this one.”

Standing behind him, Fenris held up his piece of mirror, and swept aside the hair covering the brand. He watched as Anders stared in perplexed disbelief at the Tranquil brand on his skin.

“Mage... your hand,” he warned. Anders’ grip on the mirror cut the sharp edges into his palm. Blood ran down his arm. “Better heal that.”

Putting down the piece of mirror, he went through familiar healing gestures. Nothing happened. With a frown, Anders tried again. Still nothing.

“Is your mana drained?”

Anders shook his head slowly, clearly confused. “No... it’s... not right....” Again, and again, he tried to call up his power. He began sweating with the effort of it. Fenris saw him tremble, confusion turning to panic.

“No... no... no... Maker, it can’t be....” he whispered.

Fenris couldn’t follow. “What is it?”

“Maker... my magic... I can’t feel it....” He tried again. Hands shaking, he gestured, muttered, strained.

Fenris watched, confused. The mage was clearly not Tranquil, he was working himself into an emotional fit. Yet, he couldn’t feel the tug of power in his markings proximity to even passive magic normally caused.

Anders stilled, breath ragged. "Maker preserve me... they took my magic."

Trembling violently, he stared into his cupped palms, one dripping blood; his face a mask of horror. When his head dropped back in a long, mournful wail, chills ran down Fenris’ spine. He’d heard such a cry before. He’d made one, himself, on the worst day of his life.

Only reflex stopped the shard of mirror plunging toward Anders' throat.

“Mage! Stop!”

With no small effort, he wrested the glass from Anders' hand. Distraught, the mage was flailing, struggling against his hold. Finally, Fenris simply wrapped his arms about Anders’ upper body, pinning his arms to prevent him trying again. Giving up, Anders began to sob, quickly building to howls of sorrow.

Fenris held onto him, unwilling to let him go, lest he harm himself. The mage... no, not mage, any longer... continued his lamentation. Despite his feelings about magic and mages, this outpouring of grief could not help but touch him. If there was one feeling Fenris knew well, it was misery.

Eventually, the weakened man’s strength gave out, and he wilted in Fenris’ embrace. Sweeping him up, he carried him to the nearest bed, his own, and lay him upon it. He’d need to dress the bleeding wound, and prevent him trying to harm himself, again.

He’d promised Hawke. It was his duty to keep Anders safe. Even from himself.


	2. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders grieves his loss.
> 
> Fenris tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anytime The Chant is quoted in this story, it's taken from the World of Thedas v.2.

Anders’ chest felt like burning ice. 

His magic was gone. 

His howling grief had left his ribs aching, his throat raw. 

His magic was gone. 

He had no more tears left within him. 

His magic was gone. 

All that defined him, all that he was... was gone. 

He felt Fenris pick him up and lay him on a bed. Before, physical contact with the imbedded lyrium caused a jolt within him. Now, nothing. A blanket was pulled over him, words were spoken. He didn’t care. He’d rather Fenris had simply killed him. Barring that, had let him do the job, himself.

He reached inward for Justice, for reassurance. And, found nothing. He tried to rouse the spirit. Perhaps he’d been subdued by the failed branding, and the loss of his magic. He found only emptiness, a gaping hole in his soul where the spirit should be. 

Justice was gone. The spirit who’d sustained him, guided him, helped him in his cause... gone.

He was alone.

His soul was empty.

His magic was gone.

He had nothing. He had no one. 

He was unbearably alone.

He felt his hand wrapped in a bandage. He heard Fenris speaking to him, calmly, as though the world hadn’t just ended. As though Anders hadn’t just been gutted and left a hollow shell of a man. As though his pain didn’t tear through him like a flame that would never burn-out. 

As soon as his hand was let loose, he turned away and curled around himself. He couldn't stop the trembling that shook him. He couldn’t bear the emptiness in his soul.

What had happened to Justice? Was he dead? Was he sent back to the Fade? The branding had taken the spirit, that much was clear. Taken Justice, taken his magic, and left Anders barely recognizable to himself. 

A whining keen threatened to escape his throat. Tranquility had been his greatest fear since he'd first understood what it was. He knew it had gone wrong. Knew he should be a walking facsimile of a man, emotionless and dead inside. Was it a blessing, that he was not? At this moment, Anders would welcome the loss of all he was feeling. He had never been so frightened, so alone. 

He gave in to the terror, finally. Burying his face in the pillow, he curled into a ball, and let tears silently fall. In time, he cried himself to sleep.

His connection to the Fade wasn’t entirely severed. He still dreamed. Not like before. Pale, two-dimensional play-acting where once had been rich and detailed visits to another realm. He wanted to look for Justice, to find the spirit, if he lived. But, he had no control in these dreams. Indeed, until he woke, he had no conscious thought to speak of, let alone ability to act.

Time passed without notice. Hours, days... it didn’t matter. Anders had no interest in the outside world when he was stranded in darkness. He drifted in and out of awareness. He sought the twilight of consciousness; the state somewhere between awake and asleep. He didn’t dream there, nor did he feel. It was a blissful emptiness, floating between the world and the Fade. 

He rose from the bed only when his body demanded elimination. He didn’t know why he cared whether or not he messed himself. He was aware of the elf; speaking to him, following him to the loo, checking the bandage, moving about the room. He did not care. He wanted only to die. He would lie in the bed, and wait for it to happen. Death was certainly preferable to this... this... limbo. This excruciating emptiness. 

In time, he weakened, and no longer stirred from the bed. He hoped, hoped beyond measure, the end would come soon. 

"Mage.”

A hand shook him, roughly.

“Mage.”

He knew the elf. Knew he would persist until Anders responded. He managed to force a sound from his parched, painful throat. “Leave me,” he whispered.

“No. I will not allow you to waste away while under my roof.”

“Then, put me in the street. I don’t care.”

“Mage....”

“I’m not a mage, anymore. Let me die... please, just let me die.”

“To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker.”

“Then, you do it. Put your fist in my chest and crush my heart. Justice is gone... no one will stop you....”

“The demon is gone, as well as your magic?”

“Please... just one quick squeeze....”

“No.”

Anders felt the heart beating in his hollow chest, and cursed it. He found an old snippet of prayer floating in his torn and shattered mind. _“...Maker... take from me a life of sorrow.... lift me from a world of pain....”_ The Maker hadn’t listened to him for years. Why would He now?

Fenris left him alone, then. He drifted back into the forgiving twilight of near-consciousness, and waited for death.

He was wakened from his blissful, numb state by a new voice.

“Anders... I know you struggle with a pain I cannot know. But, the Maker can be your comfort...”

He felt a startling burst of anger. Words croaked from him. “Fuck off, Sebastian.”

“Good! Anger can help you find a strength you otherwise would not have.”

But, the anger left him. He had no energy for it. Numbness returned. “The Maker has forsaken me,” he whispered. “Go away. Let me die in peace.”

“We will not let you die, Anders. May I pray with you?”

“What do you care? You and that elf must love this.”

Fenris' voice spoke then. “I do not rejoice in another’s pain.”

“You hate me. You hated Justice.”

“I don’t hate you. ”

Sebastian spoke again. “Whether you believe it to be the Maker’s will or no, you cannot change what happened. What you do now, is up to you.”

Anders was fading, his energy draining away.

“Just leave me alone....” he whispered.

Sebastian’s voice spoke one more time;

_“Maker hear my cry...._  
_In the long hours of the night_  
_When hope has abandoned me,_  
_I will see the stars and know_  
_Your Light remains.”_

Anders had just begun to drift into the twilight he craved when a hand on his arm woke him.

“Mage....” It was the damned elf, reminding him of what he no longer was.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“You will sit up, and you will drink this broth. After that, I will let you be for a while.”

“Why must you torment me?”

“You’re lying in my bed, trying to die. Who is tormenting whom?”

Anders sighed. “You promise to let me be?”

“I do.”

He tried to sit up, but in the end, Fenris had to do it. Supporting him with an arm about his shoulders, he helped Anders hold the mug of broth, and take small sips from it. The broth was good; rich, salty, warm in his belly. When the cup was empty, Fenris set it aside, and helped him lie down, again.

“Fenris?” The broth had soothed his throat, and made speaking easier.

The elf paused, looking at him.

“I can’t bear the emptiness. Please, talk to me.” 

The elf hesitated. Anders expected him to turn around and walk away. Instead, he took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Sebastian would have talked with you all you liked.”

“Sebastian is a Chantry puppet.”

The elf shrugged, then cleared his throat. “You feel empty... because your demon is gone?”

“It feels like there’s a hole in my soul.”

“Did you... talk with it? Was it company for you?” 

The relief of another voice in his mind coursed through him. “Of a sort. We didn’t talk. I felt him. I would have thoughts, ideas. I knew they were his. He was always there. It was comforting.”

“It was dangerous.”

Anders felt his relief fade, and closed his eyes. “This was a bad idea. Sorry I bothered you."

Then, Fenris shocked him. “I apologize. I’m uncertain how to proceed with you, now. Things have... changed.”

“Forget it. I just wanted to fill the silence in my head for a while.” He would let the numbness drag him under, again. Even with the broth, it wouldn’t be too long before his body gave out. Weeks. Less.

Fenris thought a moment. “Have you heard about the latest gang trying to get a foothold on the docks?”

Well. The elf was trying. “No.”

Fenris proceeded to fill the silence in Anders’ mind with tales Donnic had passed on at the Hanged Man. He didn't ask for Anders' participation, he didn't bring up Justice, or mages, or the past. He simply spoke. Anders let the sound of his voice wash over him. It muted the silence, filled the empty places, and took him from the misery of his own thoughts. 

After a while, he began to drift to sleep. His mind felt more at ease, now, with the elf’s smooth voice floating through it. He slept.

He woke in darkness. Frightened at first, thinking he’d at last died, and was lost in the darkness of the Void, he realized it was simply night. The room was quiet, a faint glow from the embers on the hearth, stillness in the air. Above him, through openings in the ceiling, he could see stars shining in the night sky.

Sebastian’s voice recited in his mind; _“... I will see stars and know Your Light remains.”_

Anders whispered the next line; _“I have heard the sound, a song in the stillness....”_

“Mage?” Fenris’ voice sounded in the stillness of the room. 

“Yes.”

In a heartbeat, Fenris’ shadow was next to the bed. “Are you... well?”

“No.”

“Do you have need of anything?”

“Why do you care?”

“I promised Hawke I would assure your safety while he’s gone.”

“I need the loo.” Fenris helped him onto his shaky legs. He supported him to the bathroom, and helped him back out, again.

Back in the bedroom... living room? Study? Fenris guided him to a bench in front of the hearth. Without thinking, Anders waved his hand to rekindle the dying embers... and nothing happened. His heart sank.

“Fuck.” He rubbed his face. “Fuck it all.”

Fenris made no comment, simply served him a mug of broth from over the fire, and a hunk of bread. “Eat.”

Anders did as bade. Being guided, directed, felt comforting; felt like Justice in his mind. Dying didn’t seem quite so necessary, at the moment. 

As days passed, Anders continued to ask Fenris to talk, to fill the silence that overwhelmed him. To his surprise, he was willing to do so. He spoke of things he’d likely heard at the Hanged Man; Donnic's talk of the guardsmen and local crime, Sebastian's theological discourse. Anders didn't care what Fenris said, just so long as he said it. Hearing another voice was a balm for his shattered soul.

And, each time he'd finished speaking, the elf insisted Anders eat some bread and cheese. Lacking any internal guidance, he found it was easy to let Fenris lead him. 

After who knew how long, Anders began to regain some strength, and consider more mundane issues than his own wrecked mind. After eating the food Fenris set before him, he looked up.

“Why are you really doing this?”

“As I said, Hawke asked me to look after you. Until he returns, you are my responsibility.”

“You don’t have to keep me here, or feed me. I could go back to the clinic.”

“To lie in your bed and waste away? To be killed by templars, or street thugs, or your own hand? You’re fine here.”

Anders shuddered. He felt naked, he realized, with no magic, no spirit within to save him. He was helpless, and it was a sickening feeling. “I’m not going to kill myself.”

“You tried to slash your own throat. You lay in bed for weeks, trying to die. What’s changed?”

Weeks? “I was in extremis, Fenris. My heart’s broken, my soul shattered. But, now... I won’t kill myself.”

“You once said there were worse things than dying. Is losing your magic among them?”

“It feels like it. But, like you said, the Maker frowns on suicide.”

“Since when do you believe in the Maker?”

“Since always. He’s turned His back on me, but I still believe. It’s the Chantry I don’t believe in.”

Fenris looked at him askance for a moment. “I will see how you do. I cannot force you, but I would prefer you stay here.”

Anders sighed. “Fine. But, I won’t be beholden to you. I have some coin hidden in the clinic. Will you go with me to get it? I want to pay for my share of food.” 

Fenris surprised him, yet again. “It’s not necessary.”

“Let me feel like half a man, would you?”

The elf's gaze was penetrating. Finally he replied. "Very well."

Walking beside Fenris on the way to Darktown was surreal. The elf, who usually represented all that was wrong in society’s views of mages, suddenly represented security. It was humbling, to need protection. He’d gone from a powerful mage with formidable battle skills, to... this.

Letting them into the clinic, he felt his heart twist. Of all the things losing his magic had cost him, this was the most precious. He would never heal, again. It hurt. It hurt, a lot. He tried not to think on it. 

He went to the cubby he'd called his bedroom, removed the false plank from the wall, and found his coin purse behind the loose wall-plank. He didn't have much, but it would do for now. Picking up his pack, he filled it with what little he owned; a few pieces of clothing, his pillow, a few books. He gathered the scattered vials of healing draughts and miscellaneous potions he had. He might need them, now he had no healing power. Under a floorboard, he also found his stash of lyrium. Wouldn't need it, not anymore. But, it was worth more than all his coin and belongings combined. He'd sell it. 

"I'm done here." He paused, and looked around. "Really done here. I can't believe...." His voice threatened to break, and he was damned if he'd weep again, in front of Fenris.

"It is a great loss to the poor of the city, that you lost your healing powers," Fenris said. 

Anders nearly wept, after all. Fenris’ statement was a eulogy to his lost magic, that he'd not expected. 

He cleared the thickness from his throat. "Let’s go."

As they walked toward the door, Fenris took the magic staff leaning against the wall. 

"It's valuable, " Fenris said. "You will be short of income."

He didn't reply. He also didn't take the staff from Fenris' hand. It had been all he could do to put on his robes, this morning. Holding his staff would kill him, he knew it. 

Selling the lyrium, his staff and the robes on his back, he secured more coin than he’d had in the last ten years put together. 

Back at the mansion, Anders counted out several gold pieces and gave them to Fenris.

"Mage, this is much more than is necessary."

"I'm not a mage, dammit. You're giving me room and board, and apparently, security services. I know you're not doing this out of the goodness of your heart. I won't tread on your goodwill." 

Fenris scowled at him. "Even without your coin, I would not leave you to the mercy of the streets."

"Not now, maybe. Now I've been castrated of my magic, and Justice is gone. Before that, you can't deny you would have."

"You were dangerous, then. I would not have shared my home with a demon."

"I wasn't any more dangerous than you are!"

"I saw what your spirit of justice did to those templars. You’d have to use a mop and bucket to collect their bodies."

Anders felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. He didn't remember what had happened that night, but he didn't need to hear more. He could almost see it. It wasn't the first time Justice and he had wrought such horror. 

Fenris continued. "Do you remember the mage girl with Alrik? Your demon didn't recognize her for what she was, and you killed her. A mage you went there to protect. Do you truly think it would have recognized me as anything other than an enemy? Do you find me unreasonable to not want that in the next room at night?"

Anders felt cold darkness seep into his soul. He left the elf and searched out the bed he had awakened in, the first time. 

“Where are you going?”

“To bed,” he said with rough voice.

“Back in mine. I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”

Anders almost argued, but just didn’t have it in him. He made his way to Fenris’ bed, kicked off his boots, and climbed under the covers.

It wasn’t anger at what Fenris had said that made him seek sanctuary; it was the truth in it. Vengeance had been a monster that Anders couldn’t control. A creature of unfathomable power he had not recognized as Justice, nor himself, from the moment they had joined. 

How had he forgotten that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read Anders (short story) by Jennifer Hepler, I recommend it. (Ms. Hepler was the writer for Anders in DA2). It gives you insights that the game just doesn't, especially into Anders' reaction to joining with Justice. He was pretty well horrified.


	3. Violent Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders ponders living again.
> 
> Fenris learns startling truths.
> 
> Feelings are expressed physically.

Fenris couldn’t believe it. Even now, Anders defended the demon. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. He'd been deluded enough to take it into him, in the first place. Why would he be any different, now? He looked at the coins in his hand. It was far beyond whatever cost he would spend in maintaining the man. 

Hawke didn't often call on Fenris for work. They didn't see eye-to-eye, and Hawke preferred like-minded companions. But, as it happened, Fenris didn't need the money from Hawke's jobs. The mansion had been full of valuable items he'd sold-off for a comfortable savings. He was financially secure, even without Hawke’s supplemental income. Feeding Anders would not stretch his budget. 

He looked at the man hiding under the covers in his bed. For, hiding was what Anders was doing. Fenris didn’t understand what it felt like for for him to lose his magic, or the damned demon. The fact Anders tried to kill himself over it spoke volumes. 

He’d been shocked by his attempt on his own life. He’d barely managed to prevent it. Once Anders had exhausted himself with his initial grief, Fenris had maintained around-the-clock watch on him. He slept on the floor in front of the bedroom door. He’d cleaned the broken wine bottles littering the room, removed all glass, sharp items, ropes and cords. He knew the kinds of things that were forbidden in slave quarters to prevent just such acts. 

Fortunately, after a couple nights of failing to visit the Hanged Man, Sebastian had come to ensure the elf was alright. Since then, he'd come daily to spell Fenris while he bathed and went to the market. Sebastian had brought the broth from the Chantry, and pointed out Anders could will himself to death if no one intervened. However Anders might feel about the archer, he owed him his life. Fenris had been at a loss, and Sebastian had been there to guide him. 

He heard the front door open and close. Shortly, the man in question appeared in the bedroom doorway.

“How does he fare, today?” came the soft brogue.

Fenris shrugged. “Better, I believe. He wanted to go to his clinic to get his belongings. He gave me coin for his room and board. We argued, though, and since then, he’s been back in bed.”

The archer shook his head. “He argues more than any man I’ve ever met. What was it about?”

“His demon.”

Sebastian looked worried. “It’s still gone, is it not?”

“Yes. Yet, he still defends it.”

“Let’s just give thanks the thing is gone, Fenris. I’m sure he’ll see the good of its absence, in time. Those who've been held in thrall of a cruel leader, or abusive mate, sometimes have difficulty letting go."

Fenris bowed his head. He knew it, all too well.

“Fenris? Are you alright?”

He nodded. “He did say he wouldn’t try to harm himself, again. That he believed in the Maker and the Chant... just not the Chantry. How can that be?”

Sebastian looked surprised, his gaze going to the form under the blankets on the bed. “Did he? Aye, the Chantry was created based on the Chant of Light, ‘tis true. But, not all believe the Chantry to be the rightful leader of those who follow Andraste. The Chant itself is of divine origin. They believe the Chantry, created by man, is imperfect.”

Fenris joined Sebastian in momentary appraisal of the sleeping man. He shook his head, finally. “I won’t be long. Thank you, for coming again.” He headed for the Hightown market. He may as well stock the larder, if Anders was paying for room and board.

After their trip to the clinic, Anders lay in bed for days on end, emerging only when Fenris fed him. Finally, the elf insisted he bathe. It was his bed, after all, and he hoped to have it returned to him, eventually, without the stink of a month’s-long unwashed body.

With no argument, Anders stripped down and washed in the bathroom. Like he so often did, he attempted magic, this time to heat the water. Swearing, he began washing with cold water, until Fenris pointed out that the mansion had dwarven plumbing, with heat runes on the pipes. Sitting in attendance as he bathed, Fenris cast surreptitious glances at the man. He was far too underweight. His robes had hidden his condition, but now, naked, it was clear.

“Mage....”

Drying himself with one of Fenris’ towels, Anders sighed. “I’m not a mage.”

“You have not been eating enough, for what looks like a long time.”

Shrugging, Anders moved back into the bedroom, and pulled a change of clothing out of his bag. “Justice had little patience for mortal needs. His energy sustained me.”

“What foods will you eat more of?”

Turning to him quizzically, Anders shook his head. “This is beyond your promise to Hawke. What do you care if I waste away, so long as I’m alive when he comes back?”

Fenris had to admit, it was a good question. He thought about it while he watched Anders work his comb through the rats-nest of his hair.

“I have never known a person to be relieved of the burden of magic, and not be left Tranquil. I’ve never known an abomination to be freed from the clutches of the demon that possessed him. It seems only right to help a man who’s been given such a second chance.”

“Magic isn’t a _burden,_ and Justice wasn’t a demon,” he said, teeth gritted as he yanked snarled hunks of hair from his head. “And, you don’t need to buy me special food. I’ll eat whatever you eat.”

“I eat bread and cheese.”

“That’s it?”

“Sometimes game, if it looks fresh.”

“That’s pretty limited.”

“I lived on slave gruel my whole life. Other foods upset my stomach.”

“You eat the stew at the Hanged Man.”

“Occasionally. If I know I’ll be near a toilet the next day.”

He looked thoughtful, more engaged than Fenris had seen him, so far. “You might be trying too much, too rich, too fast. If you introduce new foods slowly, your gut can accommodate.”

“Why are you interested in my gut, suddenly?”

Anders shrugged. “Old habits, I suppose. I may not be a healer, any more, but I can’t stop thinking like one.” 

“Tell me what foods you want.”

“Potatoes, and salt pork, and milk, and rolled oats, and eggs--make sure they’re fresh-- and....”

“Forget it, you’re coming with me.”

“Fine.”

Fenris smirked to himself. This was the most interest in life Anders had shown since losing his magic. Who knew his temperamental digestive tract would come in so handy?

The shopping trip was interesting. For Fenris, at any rate. He didn’t like to shop for food. He didn’t know what many of the items in the market were, let alone how to prepare them. He could spit game over a fire, but cooking wasn’t in his training as a warrior. Bread and cheese were simple.

Anders picked over grains, examined vegetables, floated eggs. He sniffed milk and poked at meat stored in a barrel. He measured out small amounts of colorful spices. 

Fenris didn’t have any idea what the man was looking for in the foods he chose, but he was at least engaged in the activity. Once home, Anders helped Fenris carry the groceries into the room designated as a pantry.

"I've been thinking, since we came back from the clinic," Anders began, hesitantly. 

“I would imagine so, as much time as you spent in that bed.”

"Look, this isn’t easy for me, alright? Maybe a little sympathy?”

“What have you been thinking?”

“What you said that day made sense. No reasonable man would have wanted Justice and I sleeping in his home."

Fenris was too surprised to respond.

“This is hard for me. Since Justice has been gone, I see things more clearly. Our combined mind kind of muddled things. I forgot what I was before... what he was before. But, since he’s been gone, my thoughts are my own, and memories that were clouded by his presence are now distinct.”

“And?”

Taking a deep breath, Anders continued. “After I killed that girl, I told Hawk that I couldn’t control Justice. But, I'd known I couldn’t, even before then. I knew the day we joined. I’d just... forgotten.” 

“You knew this?” 

Anders’ face was pained. “I did. I knew we were dangerous. I knew we were _Vengeance._ And, yet, even now, I miss his presence, so much. You can’t imagine the loneliness I feel.”

Fenris looked at the man. He looked completely lost. Bereft. He thought carefully before replying.

“I won’t say I know how you feel. But, I know what it is to be freed from someone who controlled you, and, still long for their presence.” He unpacked the last of the packages, and returned to his room, Anders following.

“You mean Danarius?”

“I do.” He picked up his flint and steel. “Do you know how to start a fire this way?”

“It’s been a long time, but yes.”

“Watch me, this time. You can try, the next.” He started the fire and sat on a bench. Anders joined him. “When I was first free of Danarius, I didn’t know how to live. Every moment of my life had been dictated by him. What I ate, if I ate; what I did, what I didn’t do; where I slept, when I slept. My life was lived solely for him. Alone, I was adrift. I longed for him to guide me, to give me purpose.”

Anders watched him as he spoke, engrossed in his words. “Yes, it’s much like that. Justice guided me, and gave me purpose. I didn’t realize how much of me he made-up, until he was gone.”

“It didn’t make up any part of you. It was in you, yes, and controlled you. But, you were, and still are, _you._ Learn yourself, again. Fill the hole in your soul with yourself.”

“What makes you think Justice wasn’t part of me?”

“Because it’s gone, and you’re still here. I once overheard you speaking to the blood mage. You described what it was to be an abomination. ‘Like being trapped in your own body, while someone moves you like a puppet... trying to scream, but there’s no escape.’ If you were truly joined with the demon, there would not have been such separation of control.”

“I’m surprised you remember me saying that.”

“It’s not the sort of thing one easily forgets.”

“I suppose not. How did you stop missing Danarius?”

“I made a life in his absence. I met people who helped me. I learned to make my own decisions. I had no memory of being without my master. You do. You were not always under its control. You will have an easier time of it, than I did.”

“Easier said than done. It’s not just Justice that’s gone.”

“You are much more than your magic, Anders. You are still a man, without being a mage.”

Fenris watched doubt fill his face. He also noticed how much calmer Anders was, than in the past, when discussing these topics. 

Anders rested his elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands. “I loved having magic. The flow of power, the ability to create something from nothing... the ability to heal... it was indescribable.” 

Fenris heard the shuddering breath Anders drew, knew he grieved his lost powers. “I am sorry for the loss you feel. I cannot say I’m sorry you’re no longer a mage. But, your pain brings me no satisfaction.”

Anders shook his head, still held in his hands. “Those are the worst condolences I’ve ever heard. I’m heartbreakingly sorry I’m no longer a mage.”

Speaking so frankly with Anders was difficult. He was mildly awed by the conversation they’d just had. No bitter comments, no biting backlash. It made him wonder just what sort of person Anders would be, now he was simply a man, with no magic, and no demon. 

As days passed, Anders became more animated. He still slept a great deal, but, got out of the bed each day. He ate without prompting, he bathed regularly. Fenris insisted he continue sleeping in his bed; he didn’t trust that he was over his suicidal thoughts, yet. Anders wasn’t dim; if he wished Fenris to believe he was improving, just to gain the freedom to kill himself, he would find a way.

But, as more time passed, Fenris began to think the danger might be ebbing. Although Anders still asked for the elf to talk, to fill his mind with noise, he did it less often. He seemed to attempt magic less frequently. Each time he did, grief flashed across his face, before resolve took its place. He seemed to want to overcome. To live.

Fenris was certain Anders would grow accustomed to the demon’s absence. He truly saw the similarity in the roles the demon and Danarius had played in their lives. Anders seemed to, as well... at least, to some degree. The man wasn’t mentally deficient, in spite of a history of bad choices. He would adjust to his mind’s freedom, readily enough. 

He found himself mulling over the changes in Anders. Really, to see a mage become a regular person was fascinating. He pondered the differences. Now that some of the black depression was lifting, Anders was more... normal. What was normal, for him? Fenris had no idea. One afternoon, he looked at the man, sitting motionless before the fire. 

“Anders.”

His reply was muted. “What?”

“Do you still dream?”

“If you can call it that.”

“It’s changed?”

“It’s bland, two-dimensional.”

“It sounds like most people’s dreams.”

“Even before I manifested magic, my dreams were vivid. I could control my own actions in them.”

“You were still a mage, before your powers showed themselves. Just, undeveloped. In Tevinter, unusually rich dreams are considered a welcome sign in a child. It means he may be a mage.”

“Really? They actually want their kids to have magic?”

“Having a mage child is the hope of every Imperial citizen. Even for those who are not, themselves, mages. It elevates the entire family to a higher class.”

“That’s incredible.”

“Not to those crushed under magic’s heel. Those sacrificed in blood ritual. Those laboring in slavery under the magisters.”

“Right. I still say, not every mage would do that. Just because Tevinter went that direction, doesn’t mean the rest of Thedas would, if mages were freed.”

“I’ve yet to see a mage not fall to blood magic or demons, once free.”

“I never did. Why do you always seem to forget that?”

“You were possessed.”

“Not by a demon.”

“How can you say that? After what it did?”

“He wasn’t like that before we joined. Look, I don’t want to fight about this, Fenris. I really don’t.”

“Understood. And, I will give you credit for not using blood magic.”

“Oh, well, thank you, so much.”

“So, that just leaves Hawke. He’s the only mage I’ve met who has neither used blood magic, nor succumbed to a demon.”

Anders barked a mirthless laugh. “Hawke is a blood mage, Messere Oblivious.”

His mind came to an abrupt, shocked, standstill. “This is not something about which to joke.”

Anders looked at him in disbelief. “I’m not joking. He started using blood magic about the time he took up with Merrill.”

Fenris stared at him. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about a thing like that? I’m not any happier about it than you are.”

The elf felt his world slip sideways. Hawke couldn’t be a blood mage. He couldn’t. Hawke was the finest man Fenris knew. He was his friend. He’d been his lover, however briefly. He felt sick.

“Fenris... you alright?”

“No.”

“Look, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I know you have... feelings... for him.”

“You know nothing about it.”

“Fine. I know nothing. But, I know Hawke’s a blood mage, and it sickens me. You can smell it on him. It leaves a kind of....”

Fenris stood, abruptly. “I’m going out.” He strode from the room, mind in chaos.

He hated the Alienage. Hated the poverty-stricken desperation, the hopelessness in the air, the stink. He found Merrill’s hovel easily; Hawke often led the group there.

The witch was shocked to find him on her doorstep.

“Fenris! Oh, what a surprise! Come in!”

Fenris stayed where he was. “Are you teaching Hawke your filthy blood magic?”

“Oh. A little. He wanted to learn, so I’ve shown him....”

“He wanted to learn? You’re not controlling his mind? Making him your thrall?”

The Dalish elf look horrified. “I would never.... Hawke chooses his own path. He understands blood magic is not evil in its own right."

“He would never have used it, if not for your influence.”

“I didn’t influence him. His father did. With the magic Malcolm used in the Grey Warden prison. After Hawke came back, he talked about....”

Fenris turned on his heel, and walked away. He’d heard enough. 

Hawke was a blood mage. Fenris hadn’t been on that mission, but had heard about it. Hawke's father had used blood magic to contain the Grey Warden prison. It was done under compulsion, yet, he’d still used it. And, as it turned out, so would his son. 

Fenris’ heart broke.

He managed to make it back to his mansion before the pressure burst within. Slamming the door shut, he loosed a bellow of fury, a battle cry with no enemy to cower. How could Hawke do it? How could he? 

He stormed up the stairs and into his room. He grabbed a fresh bottle of wine on the way, ripped the cork from it, and drank half in one lift. Lowering it, he saw Anders still sitting on his bench, a wary expression on his face. 

“Yes, I’m still here. And, still alive. Good thing I’m not suicidal, with you just storming off....”

Fenris interrupted. “He followed in his father’s footsteps, after the Warden prison,” he spat. “Malcolm Hawke, Garrett Hawke... both used blood magic. All mages are weak. All mages will turn to blood magic and demons at some point, whether they think they will, or not. It’s inevitable.”

“I didn’t. Many don’t. Malcolm Hawke only did it because he was forced to.”

“You were an abomination.”

“I didn’t summon any demons. And, I never used blood magic.”

“Nor will you, now. Do you even know how lucky you are? Do you know what a gift you have been given, to have had the burden of magic lifted from you?”

“Gift? You call this a _gift?_ I’ve been torn apart at the soul! Would you call getting those markings a gift?”

“This was a horrific experiment, inflicted upon me by an evil man. Do not compare the two!”

“Why not? Both caused excruciating pain. Both should never have happened. You, at least, were left with the ability to protect yourself. I’m a naked babe, out there.”

“Do you think I wouldn’t give these up, were I able? I was a created as a weapon to be wielded by my master. They are bearable now, only because no master will ever again compel their use.”

“What is Hawke, if not your master? Does he not tell you who to kill?”

Fenris, filled with fury, hurled the bottle at the wall. _“You dare!”_

Anders was on his feet. “I dare? I’m pointing-out the bloody obvious! You fought for years for your freedom, and the first man to take an interest in you, you make him your honorary master. Look at you! Wearing his leash around your wrist....”

Fenris lashed out, backhanding him hard enough to knock him to the floor. Immediately, he regretted his action. He was furious, yes, but he’d just struck a defenseless man. 

Anders looked up at him in shock, lip bleeding. Then, with a snarl, he launched himself at Fenris. His shoulder caught the surprised elf in the gut, and bowled them both to the floor. Astounded by the attack, Fenris was quickly locked in neck hold. His wits recovered, and a fierce wrestling match ensued. Grunting, swearing, hissing, the two men rolled about the floor, each attempting to overpower the other. 

To his dismay, Fenris found himself pinned on his back, Anders’ legs locked around his own, arms stretched over his head. The two men glared at one another, until the elf phased his arms, and plunged a hand into the chest above him. He heard Anders gasp as his phased hand remained in place, doing no damage, but knowing exactly what it could do.

Anders glared at him with spite. “You possess more magic than I do. Go ahead... crush my heart. Finish what the templars started.” 

Fenris ripped his hand harmlessly from his body, and shoved him off. “This is no magic!”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Anders spat, pulling himself upright. Fenris was on his feet, still glaring.

“Hawke is not my master. These markings are not magic.” 

“Whatever gets you through the day.” Anders dabbed at his mouth with his sleeve, his lip beginning to swell. 

“I have no master! I am not a slave!”

“Convince yourself, Fenris. Did you truly learn to follow your own voice after leaving Danarius? Or, did you wait for another voice strong enough to guide you? Hawke isn’t worthy of your fealty. He has many fine qualities, I’ll not deny that. But, he used you and hurt you. You deserve better.” With that, Anders picked up his bag, walked tiredly into the hallway, and to the spare room.

Fenris stood in angry confusion. His entire world had been turned upside down. He was still reeling from the discovery that Hawke used blood magic. He was ashamed he’d attacked a man with no means of defense. He was horrified anyone would draw a similarity between what he felt for Hawke, and what he’d experienced with Danarius. Furious that he would be accused of using magic. And, finally, chagrined Anders had been able to best him in a wrestling match. 

His legs felt weak under him, and he sank onto a bench. He looked at the strip of cloth wrapped about his wrist. Whatever reason he wore it before, he could wear it no longer. Hawke was a blood mage. A maleficar. Fenris unwound the strip of fabric, and pulled it idly through his fingers. Hawke had made him feel things he’d never felt, before. For a night, he’d felt... worthy.

Anders had said Hawke wasn’t worthy of him. How had he known Hawke had hurt him? Had... used him. Could he be right? Had Fenris simply found another man... another mage... to follow? Was he truly free? He threw the fabric into the fire. Yanking off his belt, he threw the crest shield in, as well. He sat and watched as the paint turned to smoking flame, and the thin metal warped and blackened. 

He looked down at his hands, traced with lyrium markings. They’d been created by magic. But, they were not magic, of themselves. He was not using magic, when he used the markings.

He stood and strode to the room next door, and, threw the door open. Anders sat on the edge of the bed, pulling a small pot from his bag. 

“Keep it verbal, that’s all I ask,” he said, tiredly.

“I... I apologize for striking you. It was wrong, regardless of my anger.”

Anders blinked at him. “Wow. Well, apology accepted. Is that why you burst in here?” He opened the pot, revealing salve as the contents.

“No. These markings were created by magic, but they are not magic. I am no mage.”

Anders made a humorless huff, shaking his head. “That’s what bothers you about that entire exchange? Alright, fine. You do not use magic. In my defense, your hand was in my chest, and I was a little upset. I’m sorry I offended you.” He dabbed the salve on his swollen lip. Immediately, the cut showed improvement.

It was Fenris’ turn to blink. “Apology accepted.”

Looking at the elf’s empty wrist and hip, Anders spoke. “I see you lost the leash.”

“Call it that again, mage, and you’ll find yourself on the street.”

“I’m not a mage.”

“True, but you’re still as irritating as one. I no longer carry Hawke’s favors. I will not bind myself to a blood mage.”

“He wasn’t worth binding yourself to, before that.”

“You don’t know....”

“I know more than you think, Fenris. When you want to hear it, let me know. Right now, I’m exhausted. I just want to sleep.”

“I’d rather you slept in the other room.”

“No. I’m a big boy, and I can sleep all by myself. If I wanted to kill myself, I’d have done it while you were having tea with Merrill.”

Fenris scowled, but backed-out as the other man moved to lay on the bed. “I’ll let you rest, then.” He pulled the door closed as he left.

He walked tiredly back to his room, bewildered by all that had occurred. He peeled off his armor, and fell onto his own bed for the first time in nearly two months.

He was utterly deflated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Game, Hawke has the option of blood magic. That certain NPC's have no rivalry points in reaction to that seems pretty strange to me. IMHO.
> 
> I just figure that such close confines is going to lead to some sort of explosion between the two.
> 
> Personal note: I really enjoyed writing the fight scene! Something about Fenris' shock when he's tackled just worked for me. Also: a one-off physical fight between two people does note denote an abusive relationship. I fact-checked. :-)


	4. Give and Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two men take tentative steps toward peaceful coexistence.
> 
> Anders shares a bit of his history.

After the door closed, Anders lay Down, sinking into swift, deep sleep. It had been a draining day. When he woke again, it was early evening, judging by the light outside his window. He lay thinking about earlier events. It was a day filled with both the most understanding he’d ever shared with the elf, and the most blatant conflict. 

As much as they’d argued over the years, he never thought they’d come to blows. He hadn’t seen that coming. He supposed he should be happy to have come out of it alive, with only a swollen lip to show for it. In retrospect, his choice of wording was perhaps not the best. Justice would not have let him so callously draw the comparison between Fenris’ feelings for Hawke, and Danarius. Anders felt he’d spoken truth, but it could have been softened.

He felt a small measure of pride in having pinned the warrior in the wrestling match. Anders spent most of his childhood wrestling with the other boys in the village. He’d been one of the best, using his long limbs to advantage. Still, Fenris was strong, and pissed-off. When his hand ended up in Anders’ chest, he was sure the elf would kill him. 

He sighed. Would he and Fenris ever have a conversation that didn’t lead to angry words? It would be nice, considering they’d be sharing the mansion for the next month or so. The elf had been decent, whatever his motivation. Decent, and tolerant, given Anders’ melancholy. He would try to think first, before speaking his mind. His mouth had been his problem his entire life, until Justice moved in and exerted some control. 

Justice controlling him. Fenris had mentioned that. Anders could see it, too. Justice had commandeered his body on many occasions, not always with appropriate results. Some of the things they’d done, he was only now remembering clearly. How much had he forgotten? He was afraid to find-out. What Fenris recalled him having said once to Merrill... it was all true. Yet, he’d forgotten he’d said it. 

He got up, stretching, and flinched. His muscles were sore from wrestling. Wandering into the elf’s room, he found Fenris asleep on top of his bed. He turned to the cold hearth. Following the elf's earlier example, he laid a fire, and struck the flint and steel. The spark flew short.

“Try a lower angle,” came Fenris said. 

He did, and the tinder took. A little fanning of flame, some wood added, and the fire crackled merrily.

“Well done.” The elf was standing near the hearth, now, silent on bare feet. “Are you... well?”

Anders sat on a bench. “Little sore. I haven’t wrestled since before I went to the Circle. You?”

Fenris sat beside him. “Fine. I was impressed with your skill. Surprised, but impressed.”

“Thanks. I guess.”

“You’re not entirely without defenses.”

Anders huffed a small laugh. “I don’t know that running at a blade or bow to knock them to the ground is a sound strategy.”

“No. But, you’re no weakling Circle mage.”

“I spent a lot of time surviving alone, or with the Wardens. Toughens you up a bit.”

“Apparently.” The two men sat in quiet contemplation of the flames for a time before Fenris spoke, again. “I said it was a gift, to lose your magic. I regret my choice of words. I bore witness to your pain. Anything that brings such hurt is no gift.”

Anders hadn’t expected such an admission from the elf. "I don’t believe those markings were a gift, either. Bad choice of words on my part, as well.”

Fenris nodded. Then, took a deep breath. “I would like to hear what you have to say about Hawke.”

Anders appraised the elf. “You sure? I don’t have another fight in me, right now.”

Fenris grimaced. “Yes. I am sure.”

Anders took a breath. “I don't know how much you know, so I’ll just say it all. And, I want to preface this by saying Hawke is a good man, in many ways. But, he can be a bit immature."

“I agree, so far.”

“Alright. Well, shortly before he was... with you, he and Isabela spent time together. He broke it off with her; pretty mutual, it seemed. Then, a few months later, he boasted about getting you into bed....”

Fenris looked at him with dismay. “Boasted? He spoke of our time together?”

“Not in detail. Just that he, a mage, had managed to get the mage-hating elf into bed. He thought is was, well, kind of funny.”

Fenris looked mortified. _“Funny._ I can’t... but, he....” He dropped his gaze to study his hands. 

Anders spoke gently. “Look, I know how you feel.”

“You don’t.”

“That same week, he talked me into bed, too.”

Fenris’ head snapped up, staring at him, aghast. “You were with Hawke, after we....”

Anders nodded. “He was... well, you know how he can be. Witty, attentive. I was so damned lonely, and I’d been attracted to him for years. He said he’d ended it with you, and... well, he said a lot of things. I thought what we shared was real, that it meant something. I was wrong. He’d just wanted a good time. It broke my heart. I spoke my mind and left. Then... well, you know about Merrill.”

He watched the elf digest the information. Fenris wasn’t easy to read, most of the time. Right now, he was unfathomable. 

The room was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire. 

“Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sat in silence for yet another space of time.

“You hungry, elf?”

“I am.”

“If I make something your stomach can handle, will you try it?”

“What do you have in mind?” 

“Something simple. Just try a couple bites. See how you do.”

Anders was surprised at how well they worked together, preparing a simple meal. Despite the ups and downs of the day, and the revelations regarding Hawke’s love-life, Fenris seemed more at ease than Anders had ever seen him. Probably because he was no longer a mage. Nor an abomination. Nor ready to off himself, given the first opportunity.

“So... I have a question, and I don’t want you to get preachy about your answer, alright?” He measured farina into boiling water.

“That lead-in does not bode well.” Fenris said while he cored and sliced an apple into thin wafers

“What bothered you most about me? That I was a mage, or that I was an abomination?”

Anders could have laughed at the look on his face. Fenris clearly wasn’t expecting that question.

“Why can you admit you were an abomination, but insist the thing in you was not a demon?”

“One question at a time.”

The elf sighed. “That you were an abomination. I don’t trust mages. Magic has caused most of my misery in life. But, an abomination... that’s truly dangerous. A monster.”

Anders nodded. He had expected that reply. “There are both demons and benevolent spirits in the Fade. Justice was a benevolent spirit. I don’t like the term ‘abomination’, but since there’s no other word to differentiate between bonding with the two, I suppose an abomination is what I was.”

“What is the difference, then, between a spirit and a demon?”

“You know, I asked Justice that, when he was still separate from me. He said that demons are spirits that have been perverted by their desires.”

“And, wasn’t this Justice perverted by its desire for mage freedom?”

Anders frowned. “It wasn’t his own desire. It was mine... and, my anger. He only wanted justice. But, I changed him when we joined.”

“I remember. You told Hawke that your anger had changed Justice into Vengeance. Is that not the same as saying it was perverted? Would that not make it a demon?”

Anders couldn’t argue the elf’s logic. By Justice’s own definition, the spirit had become a demon when it joined with Anders. But, for one aspect.

“Justice didn’t take over my mind, completely. As you pointed out, I still existed, in a way no demon would have allowed. I think he was something... other. Not a demon, yet no longer his own true self.” He sighed. “That pretty much described us both, I suppose.”

“It still smacks of demon, to me.”

Anders wanted to defend the spirit, yet he couldn’t help remembering; Justice had declared he was not a demon, just seconds before he brutally cut-down the mage he’d wanted to save. Perhaps the spirit had been as deluded about what he was, as Anders. What was the point of arguing? Semantics, point of view, words. He could almost hear his father’s voice from the past; _choose your battles, son._

It was a simple dish, cereal cooked with cinnamon and apples. Fenris was skeptical, at first. He poked at it with a spoon.

“It looks like gruel.”

“No, it doesn’t. Well, I guess I’ve never actually had gruel, but this isn’t it. Try it.”

With the look of a man who expected to find poison in his food, Fenris took a small taste. His face positively bloomed. He took a bigger bite, then another.

“Slow down, there. Too fast in, too fast out.”

“This is actually good.”

“Thanks. We’ll see how you do in the next 24-hours. If that doesn’t bother you, we can try some other things, too.”

A familiar, distrustful look came over the elf’s face. “Why are you so concerned about my eating habits?”

He sighed. “You’re being remarkably decent. You kept me alive. And... it’s a kind of healing I can still do. Humor me.”

Anders could almost see the wheels turning in Fenris’ head. Finally, he nodded, and continued eating. Anders started on his own.

It wasn’t until they were finished with their meal, and sitting before the fire with drinks that the elf spoke, again.

“How did you become an abomination?”

Anders shot a wary look at the elf. “If I tell you, will you promise to keep the lectures and judgement to yourself? I’m doing better, but I still feel like an open wound, inside. I can’t handle any more excitement, today.”

The elf thought a moment. Finally, he nodded. “I will do as you ask.”

With a heavy sigh, Anders thought back to the best place to start. “It’s a long story as to how, but Justice was a spirit I met in the Fade on a Grey Warden mission. We were all thrown from the Fade, and he was caught in the exodus. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but he ended up in the nearest vacant body, which was the corpse of a Grey Warden.

“Without another conscience in the body, it was only Justice, his true personality. Which wasn’t all that sparkling, I’ll tell you. He was serious, judgmental, and all about justice. He saw everything as black and white, with no gray areas between. He stayed with us, finding the work of the Wardens to his liking. But, he was confused by our world. For instance, he felt it was unjust that I had a pet cat. He thought it was a slave, and slavery is unjust. He also insisted that a Dalish Warden make reparations to the humans whom she had killed in revenge for her clan’s murder. It wasn’t humans who’d done it, we’d learned. 

“He heard me complain about the Circle, and talk about how I’d run away so many times. He thought I should help the other mages, who were still locked in the Circle, now that I was free of it. I didn’t agree. I was happy just staying alive and out of the Circle. I didn’t want to fight for a cause, other than my own.”

“Truly? That’s hard to imagine, knowing you, now.”

“You met me after my change of attitude. Anyway. He kept at me about helping set all mages free. Eventually, I began to see his point. When he came to me, and asked if I was ready to join with him, to bring about change for all mages... I agreed. 

“I can’t say how he did it. But, he did whatever he did, and when I came-to I was... well... an abomination.”

Anders stopped then. He wasn’t ready to go into what came after. Not yet.

Fenris mulled it over, drinking his wine. When he spoke, it was in an even tone. He said, simply, “I see.”

Anders looked at the elf, expecting more. When nothing more came, he shrugged, and went back to his ale. Fenris kept his word, at least.

“Something more happened,” the elf finally said. “Something you don’t wish to tell.”

“Why do you say that?” 

“Something in your manner. In your voice. I won’t ask you to say more.”

Anders scowled to himself. Varric was always saying he had tells all over him, when they played cards. Apparently, he had tells no matter what he did. Justice had actually improved his self-control in day-to-day matters. Without him, he’d never win another hand of cards in his life. He sighed. He didn’t know, now, if he’d want Justice back... but, he still missed the spirit’s presence.

“You’ll get over the loss of the demon.”

Anders nearly gave himself whiplash, snapping around to look at the elf. “How in the Void....”

“You were just speaking of it. Then, you sighed. It’s not hard to divine.”

“I didn’t realize you were such an adept at body language.” He’d have to be careful around the elf. Not that it would help. He was transparent, it seemed.

“As a slave, it behooves one to pay attention to the master’s every gesture, conscious or unconscious. Indeed, it could be the difference between life or death. Old habits are hard to break.” 

“Maker’s breath.”

“I don’t believe the Maker was involved, in any way.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I do. And, He still wasn’t.” They went back to their drinks, and watching the fire.

In time, Anders spoke, again.

“Now that you know about Hawke... and, now that your feelings have changed... do you still want to offer me room and board? I know you were just doing it for him.”

Fenris nodded. “I do. Now that you’re no longer an abomination, I feel that to not aide you in your recovery would be....”

“... unjust?” Anders couldn’t help the irony.

The elf smirked. “Indeed. Assuming we’re able to keep the fisticuffs to a minimum, I’m comfortable with you living here. For as long as you need.”

Anders felt relief flood him. “Thank you. Really, thank you.” He was dumbfounded by the conversation that was taking place. 

“Are you going to tell Hawke what happened to your magic?”

“No reason not to. It’s not something I can really keep secret. As much as it hurts to speak the words... yeah, it needs to be said. Sebastian’s probably already alerting the Chantry and saying prayers of rejoicing.”

“Sebastian has your well-being at heart. It wouldn’t hurt you to be civil to him.”

“You don’t know that. It might hurt a lot. He’s a pious, pedantic, princely priest.”

“Been working on that for a while?”

“It’s shameful how long it took me to come up with that.”

“I enjoy talking with Sebastian. He’s genuine in his devotion. He has no ulterior motives.”

“That you know.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you know, that I don’t?”

“Nothing. I just don’t trust the Chantry, or those who work for it. The Chantry has held mages under....”

“Stop. I held my tongue when you told the tale of joining with the demon. I will ask you to hold your tongue regarding mage rights.”

“You ask a lot. That’s been my life, for years.”

“Then, practice silence.”

“You know, we were doing really well there, for a while.”

“And, we will again, if you can take that topic off the table.”

“I don’t know that I can. It’s important, Fenris, whether you agree with it or not. You were a slave, you of all people should see the injustice....”

“Stop. I will not sit and listen to you compare the Circles to slavery. You have no idea of what you speak.”

“Perhaps not of slavery, I’ll give you that. But, I know damned well what’s happening in the Circles.”

“And, I know far better what happened in my life, and is still happening in Tevinter. Do not compare the two.”

“If you’d just listen....”

“No.”

Anders frowned into his cup. It was clear this was not a conversation they could have amicably. _Yet,_ at any rate. Perhaps, in time.

“I’m a guest in your home. I won’t push the subject.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Anders grumbled internally as he swallowed another mouthful of ale. As astonishingly well as he and the elf seemed to be doing, they just couldn’t stop bickering entirely. Although, they hadn’t been talking all that long. Maybe it would get better. And, yet, maybe it wouldn’t. It didn’t really matter. They didn’t have to be best friends. They just needed to share the house without killing each other.

He was gratified Fenris was willing to let him stay on in the mansion. He could always get a room at the Hanged Man, but it was far more expensive. And, frankly, he couldn’t shake the fear of being without protection. Not that Fenris would be by his side all the time. But, knowing the elf was around set his flailing mind at ease.

For, he still struggled with the losses he’d suffered. As moody as their interactions had been all day, they had distracted him greatly from the pain that swam in the murky waters of his mind. Even talking about Justice had been more comforting than painful. 

Fenris’ voice broke his chain of thought. “Considering our history, I think we managed well, today.”

Anders gaped at the elf. “You have to stop doing that. It makes my skin crawl.”

“Doing what?”

“Reading my thoughts. It’s creepy.”

“Believe me, your head is not the first place I’d choose to swim.”

“Probably wise. You, in my head, would be so much worse than Justice.”

Anders was surprised by Fenris’ gentle chuckle. “With our opposing view of magic, your head would explode like gaatlok.”

An explosion. Anders shook his head. Why did that tickle a place deep in his mind?

“Mage?”

“I’m not a mage.”

“You lost yourself for a moment.”

“Yes. I have memories. Things that I forgot. Things I didn’t know. I think Justice may have blocked things from my conscious thoughts.”

“And, this was a benevolent spirit?”

“I don’t believe he did it malevolently. It may have been an effect of our joining, or, maybe he was trying to protect me.”

“Perhaps.”

Anders set down his cup. “I’m still worn-out. I’m turning in.”

“Good night, then.”

Walking toward the door, Anders stopped and turned. “You know, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“I was just thinking it could end in a bloodbath.”

“Either way, it sure won’t be dull.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Awakenings, Anders definitely wasn't into saving all the mages. He just wanted to save his own skin.
> 
> It is my belief, Anders doesn't necessarily enjoying arguing all the damn time. Choosing not to argue isn't the same as giving in to another's opinion.


	5. Tentative Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian tries to minister to Anders, with unsurprising results.
> 
> Anders and Fenris share an evening of unexpected harmony.

The weeks that followed did, indeed, show signs of both predictions. Anders was moody, to say the least. Vacillating between morose and saucy cheek, he kept Fenris guessing as to what his reactions would be. A simple comment from the elf could evoke either temper or humor. The temper never evolved into quite the brawl they’d once had, fortunately. It did, however, lead to heated debates and downright arguments. And, about the strangest things. Whether wine was preferable to ale. Whether or not it was muggy, that day. Whether Templars were as skilled in battle as Grey Wardens. The longest, most vitriol-filled argument regarded the relative merits of cats versus mabari as pets. Fenris was grateful that Anders refrained from bringing up mage rights. That topic, he was sure, could lead to bloodshed.

Even minus the arguments, sharing his home was not as easy as Fenris had anticipated. He'd been alone since leaving Danarius, and had lived alone in the mansion for nearly seven years. The solitude suited him. If he desired company, he went out to find it. Anders, on the other hand, sought his company. Fenris was not loquacious. Anders asked him questions and initiated conversations. He wasn’t probing or invasive, fortunately, he simply wanted more than Fenris would normally offer. 

In an attempt to find other outlets to satisfy Anders’ need for voices to fill his mind, the elf began asking him along to the Hanged Man. 

The first evening Anders accompanied him to the tavern, he’d been nervous. Kirkwall nights held endless potential for crime. Watching the jumpy man as they walked through town, Fenris realized how vulnerable he must feel... indeed, how vulnerable he truly was. Walking into the noisy bar, Fenris could see he was just as uncomfortable with the press of patrons. 

“Relax. No one’s going to put a shiv in your back. If a brawl breaks out, I’ll cover you.”

“Did this place always smell this bad?”

“Yes. Your demon hide that from you, as well?”

"Oh, shut up."

Donnic and Sebastian were already at a table, talking quietly. Anders waited for Fenris to order their food and drinks, and followed him toward the men. 

“Gentlemen,” Sebastian greeted them. “Anders, you look well.”

“Do I?” Anders kept his tone civil, Fenris was pleased to hear. He really had no idea what might come out of his mouth at any given time.

“Indeed. Less tense, better rested... less likely to waste away in bed.”

Donnic spoke up before Anders could reply. “Heard about your magic. Sorry.”

Anders looked surprised, and murmured thanks. 

“Remember, Anders, the Maker both gives and takes his gifts, for reasons only He can know. Surely, losing your magic is an omen of good things to come.”

“Oh, you’re kidding me. Why would it portend good things? The Maker didn’t take it, a bloody templar did.”

“The Maker has many tools to perform his works. A Templar is certainly one, ordained by the Chantry....”

“Fuck the Chantry.” 

“Your anger comes from not understanding His will. Allow yourself to see the path He has laid before you.”

“Fuck His path.”

Fenris met Donnic’s eyes across the table. Both shook their heads slightly, neither willing to get involved in this conversation.

“You have been given a unique opportunity. Sometimes, one must be stripped of all they are, and left bare before they can be remade. The Maker has cleared the field of your soul, and left it waiting for new seed to be planted.”

“Fuck the field of my soul. Seriously, Sebastian? You think I’m going to see this as all part of the Maker’s great plan?”

“I am very serious. You know there are many mages who pray for exactly what has happened to you. For their magic to be taken from them, that they may live a life denied them in the Circle. To be able to walk free without being hunted.”

“There are even more mages who simply want freedom, _without_ having to lose their magic. To not be imprisoned for being what the Maker made them. Do you know any other group of people who are jailed without guilt?”

“The Circles are not jails. Why do you insist...?”

“Why can’t you see...?”

Donnic’s voice halted the fast-building argument. “I would never say I understand how much you’ve lost, Anders. I can’t think of anything that compares. But, my father always said, ‘freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose’.* I’m no scholar. It just seems that you’re freer now than you’ve ever been, in spite of your loss.”

Fenris was struck by Donnic’s words. He glanced at Anders, who looked similarly struck. Their food arrived then, and the tension broke. Anders applied himself to the slow, steady consumption of his meal, leaving the other three to talk around him. 

Fenris turned his gaze to Anders as he talked with Donnic and Sebastian. He appeared deep in thought. What Donnic had said was in the same vein as what Sebastian had tried to say, but somehow, it hit home more strongly. He was curious what was going through Anders’ mind, but wouldn’t try to pull it from him, now. He was fairly certain he could talk to him about it when they were alone.

He suddenly realized the change that had occurred between them. Wanting to find out what was on Anders’ mind, feeling sure he’d confide it to him in privacy.... However volatile their association, it had become more familiar than he’d realized. He wasn’t sure what to think of that.

Eventually, Anders’ eyes met his, and he read the weariness there. With parting words, he stood, and led the way home. 

“Holding up?” he asked as they walked the dark streets.

Anders shrugged, hugging himself against the cold. “Tired.”

“Sebastian wanted to help, you know.”

“He’s a minion of the Chantry, no original thought in his head.”

“He was right, in many ways.”

“If by right, you mean wrong, sure.”

“Donnic was right, too.”

Anders was quiet.

“You can build a new life. You have options now you didn’t have, before.”

“The only new life I wanted was one of freedom, for all mages. Beyond that, I’m lost. Don’t you think I’m a little old to start anew?”

“I did it.”

Anders looked at him appraisingly. “How old are you?”

“I don’t know. I received the markings nearly 20 years ago. Before that... your guess is as good as mine.”

“It’s hard to tell with elves. I don’t imagine Danarius would have used an older subject for his experiment. He’d want you to last a while, wouldn’t he?”

Fenris snorted. “Yes, he would.”

“Well, just a guess, I’m gonna put you in your mid-thirties.”

Fenris thought about it, then asked, “How old are you?”

“We’re past Kingsway, aren’t we? I’m thirty-six. I’m getting old.”

“You’re young, Anders. You have an entire life to lead, yet. Choose a good one.”

“Have you? Chosen a good one?”

Fenris didn’t know. “I’m not sure I’ve chosen a life. I rather fell into one, what with meeting Hawke.”

“Seems like having the specter of Danarius out there would make you hesitant to build anything permanent.”

“It did. But, he hasn’t tried to find me, for several years. Perhaps I should re-examine my options.”

“We could do it together. Open a business. Wine buyers. A pie shop. A pet shop!”

Fenris played along, liking this mood much more than the one in the tavern. “Hm. I like the wine buyers idea.”

“Knew you would. I’ll raise kittens. Teach them to attack templars on sight.”

The mental image made Fenris chuckle. “The templar skirts would certainly be a handicap against such adversaries.”

Anders laughed. It was a light, joyful sound. Fenris had never heard him laugh. For all Anders’ verbal witticisms he never actually expressed happiness. At least, until now. 

Anders continued. “I could sell tickets to watch the debacle.” 

“You have a sound financial mind. Plug this to Varric. I’m sure he’ll give you backing.”

“Yeah... his last venture didn’t go so well.”

“It made Hawke wealthy.”

“It got his brother killed, and nearly Hawke, as well. That whole Deep Roads, lyrium idol business was bad news.”

“I’m not sorry I missed it,” Fenris replied.

“Me, either. I hate the Deep Roads.”

They’d reached the mansion, and headed into Fenris’ room, still talking. Anders rekindled the fire. 

“This is still so much easier with magic. Doing it by hand is time consuming and dirty.”

“Life is dirty.”

“Well, not as dirty as the Deep Roads, I suppose.”

“Have you considered going back to the Wardens?”

This laugh was far from light and joyful. “Not on your life. They’d probably take me back, even with what happened after Justice, but I’m no use to them, now. They recruit only the best of the best.”

Fenris kept his tone neutral. “What happened after Justice?”

Anders grew quiet. Fenris found himself a bottle of wine, and brought Anders a mug of ale. After consulting the flames in the hearth for several moments, he began to speak.

“I don’t remember much. I only know most of it by the aftermath I found when Justice relinquished control, again. When I--we--awoke after joining, we were attacked by an ex-templar, who’d joined the Wardens to keep an eye on me. He had a squad of Wardens with him. Justice fought back. I saw some of it, before I was completely overwhelmed. When I came back to myself... Maker. It was a nightmare. It wasn’t a battle, Fenris. It had been a _slaughter._ Like nothing I’ve ever seen. Like nothing I ever want to see, again.”

“What did you do, then?”

“I knew there was no place for me, for us. Justice wasn’t Justice, anymore. I was no longer myself. We were... a monster. I had to leave. So, I ran.” 

They sat in silence again, feeling the tale sink in and and ebb away.

“Did you regret joining with the demon?”

Anders' voice was suddenly thick with emotion. _"Maker, yes.”_ Fenris put a hand on his back. He understood regret. He knew what it was to slaughter under the control of another. The elf thought carefully for a moment.

“When I first left Danarius, it wasn’t by my choice. He was evacuated from Seheron during escalating hostilities. I was left behind. I was taken in by a tribe of Fog Warriors, free people who eschewed all control by Tevinter and Qunari, alike. They accepted me, opened their lives to me. That’s how I learned what freedom meant. 

“Danarius found me, eventually. The Fog Warriors didn’t want to let me go. So, Danarius ordered me to kill them. And... I did. Every last man, woman, and child. It was only when it was over, and I stood amongst the carnage I had wrought, that I knew I could never go back to Danarius. I ran. And, kept running.”

Anders looked at him with empathy and sadness. “Maker, Fenris. I had no idea.”

“You wouldn’t, unless Hawke told you. You are the only two who know.”

“We’re not so different, in some ways,” Anders observed.

“And, couldn’t be more different, in others,” Fenris countered.

“True.”

“Anders... I’m glad the demon is gone. I know you miss it. But, I’m very pleased it no longer controls you.” He half expected a flare of temper, and argument.

Anders was calm. “Justice kept his promise. He tried to bring justice to mages. He gave me the courage and fortitude to do it. But, now, with distance, with my own thoughts freed... I’m not happy with what I had become. With what either of us became. What I regret most, is that he was changed, that he was no longer really himself. That was my fault, it was my anger that did it.”

“Do not blame yourself for something you could not control.”

“It’s hard not to. He was honorable, and just, and pure. I... fouled that. I like to hope he wasn’t killed by the branding, but was sent back to the Fade, and is himself, again.”

Fenris nodded. That seemed fair, if the spirit was actually not a demon. They spent more time in their own thoughts, watching the flames. Fenris saw Anders rubbing his neck.

“Does the brand bother you?”

“What? Oh. No. Not physically, anyway. It’s just that it’s _there._ Knowing what it took from me. Getting the brand was my greatest fear, since I was a mageling. It’s surreal, knowing I have it.”

Fenris lifted a hand toward Anders’ neck. “May I?” At the assenting nod, he smoothed aside the burnished gold hair, and examined the mark. It looked as it had when he’d received it. He brushed his fingertips over it. No difference from the skin surrounding it. No change in temperature or texture. “At the least, the templar who did it managed a neat placement.”

“Yes, that makes it so much better.”

“You can keep it hidden, if you like. Keep your hair on the long side, it blends in with your coloring.”

Anders sighed. “I suppose, if I have to have the damned thing, I should be glad it’s not glaring out of my forehead.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten it, had the templar had been in front of you. He’d be a puddle, like the others.”

Grimacing, Anders groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m not exactly sorry I killed them, but I’m not thrilled I was Vengeance, at the time.”

“It’s in the past. Look ahead.”

“I’m trying. It’s kind of a misty road, though. I can’t see where I’m going.”

“None of us can. We tell ourselves stories about what we think is ahead, but no one knows.”

Anders snorted. “Sebastian’s pretty sure the Maker knows. That there’s a divine plan for me. A plan that required the sacrifice of my magic. What was it he said?”

“He said, allow yourself to see the path laid before you.”

“Right.”

“Do you believe in the Maker, Anders?”

“I told you I do.”

“And you consider yourself Andrastean?” 

“Absolutely.”

“Yet, you harbor such hatred toward the Chantry....”

“The Chantry is a man-made organization designed to control the masses through fear and dogma. I was raised by the Chant of Light. There was no Chantry near our village, so we worshipped in our home, and with neighbors. My father was a very pious man, and we sang the Chant devotedly. I don’t need the Chantry in order to love the Maker and his bride.”

“Yet, you told Sebastian, ‘fuck the Maker’.”

“I never! I said ‘fuck the Chantry’. Neither the Maker nor Andraste created the Chantry. People did, taking the Chant and twisting it to suit their own purposes. And, my belief in the Maker doesn’t mean I’m going to jump up and down for joy when life takes a turn that rips out my heart and leaves me writhing in pain.”

Fenris nodded. “I see your point. I admit, I’m surprised by your faith.”

“My faith isn’t strong. Not like it used to be. It hasn’t been since I was taken to the Circle. I may make light, and blaspheme with every-other breath, but I believe.”

“Do you believe the Maker has a plan for you? Is it just that Sebastian said it, that makes you scoff at the idea?”

Anders snorted, looking into his empty cup. “Probably. Sebastian sets my teeth on edge. I don’t know if the Maker has a plan, Fenris. He turned His back on mankind. I don’t believe He involves Himself, anymore. I imagine Him up there, drinking an ale, and watching the show play-out before him.”

Fenris felt the start of a smile curve his lips.

“What?”

He shook his head. “I agree with every word you’ve said. I never would have thought we’d be of like minds in matters of faith.”

“Well, then, I may have been mistaken. The Maker _had_ to have a part in you saying that.”

“But, you are wrong on one count.”

“What’s that?”

“The Maker wouldn’t drink ale. He’d sip a glass of fine wine.”

“Oh, for the... alright. Andraste would drink ale, though. She was Alamarri, after all.”

“You have amazing insight into religious doctrine, Anders.”

“I do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you listen to Anders comments in Awakenings, and in DA2, you can see he's got faith. His manifesto is based on the Maker and Andraste.
> 
> We know Fenris escaped Danarius three years prior to meeting Hawke. For my story, I chose to have him with Danarius for ten years before that.
> 
> Given that WoTv2 says Anders was in the Circle "almost two decades," I picked eighteen years. This story begins in 9:36, hence his age.
> 
> * Yes, I took a line from Janis Joplin's "Me and Bobby McGee." It's just a really good line.


	6. New Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men become more familiar.
> 
> Anders resumes some of his old life. And, has an unexpected skill.

As time passed, Anders felt his mind become more his own; Fenris had been right about that. He grew more comfortable with the spirit’s absence. Growing accustomed to his magic's absence was harder. Mornings were worst. For just an instant after waking, he forgot what he’d lost. He’d reach for Justice, or try to use magic to light a lamp... and, it would all came back in a rush. 

Once he was up and moving, it was easier. Even so, several times each day, he’d instinctively try to use magic for something, and would have a flash of pain when no power answered his summons. He appreciated that the elf, observing those moments, chose to ignore them. 

Fenris continued to drag him to the tavern several evenings each week. He didn’t really mind; he appreciated the change of scenery, and feeling somewhat normal, whatever normal was. He even tried to maintain a civil demeanor with Sebastian, but, it was Donnic he spoke to most. He’d never really gotten to the know the guardsman, before. He was pragmatic, mellow, and non-judgmental. 

“Could you go back to the Wardens, if you wanted?”

“Not really. I’m neither a fighter, nor a healer, anymore.”

“You never learned fighting skills other than magic?”

“Well, my father taught me a little with a quarter staff. But, that was over twenty years ago. I was just a boy.”

“Doesn’t the Circle teach any skills besides magic?”

Anders snorted. “We don’t need any other skills. We’re not supposed to live outside the Circle.”

“Right.”

Keeping himself busy, he enjoyed finding new foods for Fenris to eat. The elf was willing to try most things, at least once. It was finding things he both liked, and could tolerate, that was the trick. He had a sweet tooth, which Anders found an unexpected contrast to his sober personality. He was such a serious, stoic warrior; he seemed more the type to tear into raw meat than eat fruit pies. Sadly, Anders didn’t have a large repertoire of recipes, and was running out of things he knew how to cook.

It was while he experimented with cooking, that it occurred to him that he could still make potions. Much of his healing practice had included potions that required no magic to brew nor dispense. So, he explored alchemy once again. Now he wasn’t running the clinic, or working maniacally on his manifesto, he indulged in deeper studies and practice.

He built-up his stockpile of usual potions and poultices; then, looked for ways to improve them. He also tried his hand at creating new potions. He enjoyed the challenge, and had luck with some of his experiments. Enough that he considered his potential with another kind of healing.

Most healers in Thedas were not mages. Most used herbs and first aid to help those who were ill or injured. Even minus his magic, Anders knew he was better trained than most of those. It occurred to him that although no longer a Spirit Healer, he could still help the helpless. He wanted to heal, again.

When he’d spoken of his thoughts, Fenris had been wholeheartedly supportive. Anders remembered the elf’s eulogy to his magic. He’d approved of Anders’ healing, regardless of his feelings about his being a mage and abomination.

“Do you plan to re-open the clinic, then?”

“It would be easier, I think. People know where it is, I can lock it at night, and leave my stores of supplies there.”

“You’re not going to move back into your old cupboard?”

“Do you want me to? I don’t want to wear out my welcome, here.”

“No. We’ve had some rough moments, but I’d still rather you stayed.”

Anders was relieved. He liked his room, he liked the plumbing in the loo, he enjoyed living with less crime in Hightown. He also enjoyed living with Fenris, and not just for the security he provided. They occasionally went at it like cats and dogs, but they also shared company in a comfortable way. He was growing accustomed to the elf. Even to his unreasonable quirks. Like, his new obsession with apple pie.

From his first taste of the fruit pie, he’d been addicted to it. He hoarded it, relished it, scowled when Anders took his share. He was like a templar with lyrium.

“Anders, where is the pie that was in the pantry?”

“There was only one piece left. I just ate it.”

Fenris looked murderous. “You ate the last piece of pie?”

“Uh... yes.”

“It was the last piece!”

“You ate all the other pieces.”

“Don’t ever eat the last piece of pie.The last piece is mine.”

“Maker’s breath. Look, you want it that bad, I can stick my finger down my throat....”

“I’m serious, Anders.”

“What is it with you and apple pie?”

“Never. Again.”

Anders had left that very moment, found the baker, and bought two apple pies. Fenris hadn’t quite thanked him, but he’d grumbled something under his breath that sounded mollified. As much as it tempted his sense of mischief, Anders resisted eating the last piece of each of the pies.

Because neither of them was keen on domestics, Fenris hired a refugee from Darktown to come in several days of the week and do minimal chores. Dishes, laundry, the like. They went through several before finding one who could tolerate the corpse-littered mansion.

“What’s with the corpses, Fenris? Is this a weird Tevinter-thing?”

The elf had scoffed. “If someone has the idea of casual burglary, a few corpses gives them pause.”

“So, it’s your version of a big dog with no bite.”

“Essentially. Be glad they’re desiccated, by now. There was a strong smell for months.”

“That's really disgusting, you know that?”

“You lived in Darktown for years. That’s a foul odor.”

“You think it’s bad now, you should have been there when illness had dung pouring like water from half the people down there.”

“Maker, I’m going to be sick....”

“Grow a pair, pansy.”

Anders had concluded that when he opened the clinic, he’d just have to leave before dark. He certainly wasn’t going to ask Fenris to walk him home each night, but, he also wasn’t going to put himself on display for every two-bit hoodlum that skulked the streets. 

So, as Winter began, Anders once again lit the lantern outside the clinic, and treated the myriad patients who came through the door. He was surprised how much he was able to do, simply giving advice and distributing his potions, salves and tinctures. He set broken bones, stitched wounds, diagnosed, and prescribed. It went far in ameliorating his pain at losing his magic. 

One afternoon, just prior to closing, a pair of children were brought in. They’d been exploring the under-sewers, and fallen through a rotted stairwell, breaking several bones. It was well past dark by the time he’d finished, and sent them home with their families. Glancing up, he was surprised to find Fenris leaning in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m keeping an eye on you for Hawke, remember?” The glint in the green eyes showed the elf’s humor.

“Right. Well, good thing, that. I’m scared of the dark, and all.”

“Grow a pair, pansy.”

Walking through Lowtown, Anders was grateful for the elf’s consideration. Especially when a trio of figures stepped out of an alleyway, and into their path. 

“Stay back,” Fenris murmured, moving forward. It began rather suddenly, and the elf’s sword was in his hands and engaging all three assailants.

Anders was a ball of furious anxiety. He had no way to help, and his every instinct was to call up his magic and firebomb those idiots into tomorrow. When two had gone down, and the third managed the miracle of disarming Fenris, he leapt into action. 

A pile of wooden staffs, used as levers for loading large cargo, lay against the wall. Grabbing one, Anders wielded it as a weapon. Between experience with a magic staff, and nearly forgotten lessons as a child, he engaged the assailant, allowing Fenris to find his blade and end the fight. 

Anders stood over the last body, twirling the staff with ease. He grinned at the elf. “Hey. Look at that. I’ve still got a few moves.”

Fenris looked at him intently. “You can use a quarter-staff?”

He snorted. “What you saw, is all I got. Most of that was just magic staff melee technique. Worked pretty well, didn’t it?”

“Pretty well? Astonishing, is more like it. Why did you never mention this?”

“I told Donnic about it. I barely remember what little I knew, in the first place. What’s to mention?”

“I believe you remember more than you think. Let’s go to the Hanged Man.”

Fenris enthusiastically told Donnic and Sebastian the tale of the skirmish. Anders looked at him with confusion. His part had not been that great, yet the elf spoke of it with high praise.

“Well done, Anders,” Donnic said. 

“You’ve been trained with a quarter staff?” Sebastian asked.

Anders shook his head. “My father used one, and he used to, you know, spar with me. Play, really. I haven’t held one in two decades.”

“Was your father a soldier?”

“Farmer. But, there’s so little law in the Anderfels; everyone learns a weapon, just to stay alive.”

“I thought you were from Ferelden?” Fenris asked.

“I am. My parents immigrated when they were young.”

“I’ve seen you use your magic staff in melee, Anders. You wielded it with skill. Your early training with your father is obviously well-ingrained,” Sebastian added. 

“I’m not sure what you’re all so excited about. I swung a stick.”

Fenris looked exasperated. “You have a weapon skill. You won’t be defenseless.”

“That? Please. Without you, I’d have been toast.”

“Right now, yes. Donnic, any chance we could borrow a couple staves from the armory?”

“I’ll get them to you tomorrow night.”

“What are you thinking, elf?”

“I’m going to train you with a quarter-staff, human. You will not wander defenseless.”

“You don’t even use a staff.”

“The technique is very similar to a great sword. I’ve been trained in its use, as part of my training with a blade. You have some of the basics. We will refine them, build on them, and train you up.”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Why would you?”

“Because I think you’re going to be a very scary teacher.”

Donnic and Sebastian both laughed. Fenris scowled. “I will be an exacting instructor. I intend you to be well-trained and able to meet battle when it finds you. It’s unlikely that you’ll be as powerful with a staff as you were with magic, but you will be competent.”

True to his threat, Fenris began working with Anders as soon as Donnic brought him the staves. They were simple weapons, wooden staves with metal caps on each end. Fenris said they would eventually work with bladed staves. Anders had a blade on the end of his magic staff, and he’d used it to good effect. For now, simpler was better.

Anders was right. Fenris was scary. He was intense, and focused, and did not allow him to slack during their training sessions. Anders hadn’t worked so physically hard at something since he’d been on the family farm. In the great hall downstairs, with corpses as an audience, Fenris drilled him. 

He started him with basics. Anders was surprised how much he did remember. He didn’t recall his father actually teaching him so much. He remembered it as play. Fenris was impressed with both his father’s ability to teach a child, and Anders’ retention. As days passed, the elf added more to their sessions, building on what came before. 

After several weeks, they were both moving across the floor to Fenris’ count. Stance, grips, guard, attack, parry, feint.... Over, and over, and over. It was cold in the house, yet both men sweated with exertion.

Sparring had been simple forms in the beginning. As Anders learned more, they began to be more authentic. As scary and intense as Fenris was, he was quick to praise, as well. Anders was years from being a match for the elf, if ever, but Fenris pointed out his progress readily.

“You handle the staff with an instinctive touch. Your early training, plus years with a magic staff, have made it a natural weapon for you.”

“I have blisters on my hands, and my back is killing me.”

“Good. You are putting your greatest effort into it. I’m surprised at your dedication. Somehow, I didn’t anticipate it.”

“Oh, well, thanks. I do know how to learn, you know. Spirit Healing isn’t just something you pick up off a shelf.”

“This isn’t magic. I anticipated resistance to learning a physical skill.”

“You haven’t given me much choice.”

“Do you wish to quit training?”

“No. Absolutely not. You’re an excellent instructor. Thank you, for doing this.”

The elf positively glowed with the praise. “You’re welcome.”

Shortly after they’d begun training, Donnic informed them that he’d received a letter from Aveline. She, Hawke, Varric and Isabela had been held up. They'd be onger than anticipated. Donnic was clearly excited for their return. Fenris seemed less so. Anders asked him about it.

“I’m uncomfortable with Hawke. The blood magic is bad enough. I don’t know how to address that, at all. And, knowing how callously he disregarded us both... he had no consideration for either of our feelings. And, there are other things he’s said and done that were hurtful, as well. I always excused him.”

“Fenris, he’s not a bad person. He’s just careless. He’s like a big kid, looking for a good time in life. I used to be that way, but Justice turned that around.”

“Blood magic is nothing to be careless with, nor a good time.”

“I agree. Look, I know that I said some harsh things, when I first came here. About Hawke being your new master. But... does he hold some sort of sway over you? Do you feel unable to refuse his requests?”

“I... have come to realize that your points, although exaggerated, were not without some validity.”

“Really?”

“It is hard, not to have... direction. But, to recognize it, and realize that another blood mage was in that role... I believe I can divest myself of Hawke’s allure.”

“Even if he did get nasty about it, there’s not much he could do to you. Maybe have you kicked out of the mansion. If that happened, we’d just move into the clinic. Wall off a section, put decent beds in it. Water’s problematic, but... we’d have someplace to go.”

“I would rent us a room at the Hanged Man. We would not live in the sewers.”

“That works, too. I’m glad you’re feeling better about the Hawke-situation.”

“As am I.”

Anders marveled to himself that they had discussed such a touchy topic so calmly. And, that both imagined continuing to live together, should they leave the mansion. 

Could it be... were they were actually becoming... friends?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, some people just need time to grow accustomed to one another.
> 
> It's true... quarter staff use is similar to great sword use.
> 
> So, it's not my intention to use the evil!Hawke trope to bring these two together. It's the blood mage aspect I'm after. But... I often play Hawke and the Quizzy as erratic and immature in at least some play-throughs. I play them in many different ways, to enjoy the fullest of the possible NPC reactions and plot variations.


	7. Heal Thyself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men learn from each other.
> 
> A catastrophe spurs further understanding.

Fenris enjoyed instructing Anders in use of the quarter-staff. He had both remarkable focus, and a willingness to push himself beyond comfort. Although at first surprised, it eventually occurred to him that Anders would require such traits to become as powerful a mage as he’d been. Magic took focus. Running alone as an apostate, or becoming a Grey Warden, required the ability to stretch one's boundaries . The elf wasn't sure why he hadn't realized this about him, before. 

No... he knew why. He'd never needed to know any more than the fact Anders was a mage; and, an abomination. It was the demon that had made him sure Anders was weak. Though, if Fenris truly considered it, Anders hadn’t joined with the demon in a moment of weakness. He’d thought it through, and come to a deliberate decision. It was a bad decision, but, carefully considered, nonetheless.

Regardless, the magic was gone, the demon was gone, and Anders was trying to live, again. He’d pulled himself out of the depths of despair, he’d reopened his clinic, and he was learning to fight. Fenris respected his tenacity.

"Good... focus on the target. As a healer, you know where it will hurt. Don't waste energy on a strike that does little damage."

"At the moment, no strike is going to do damage. I'm knackered, Fenris."

"Battles don't end because you're winded." He assessed the man before him, battle-pose tight, determination in his expression. His muscles quivered with long fatigue. He'd pushed hard enough, for now. "Let's finish for today. You've done well."

Anders dropped to the ground dramatically, lying spread-eagle on the dirty tiles. "Thank the Maker," he groaned. "I never realized how exhausting physical fighting is."

"You've made remarkable progress. It won't be long before your stamina improves."

"You really think I'll be able to defend myself in combat? Right now, a street urchin could spank me."

Fenris squatted next to him. "Yes, I do. In time. Have patience."

"Patience is not my strongest virtue. Too bad I can't just engage in battles of wit. I'd kick ass."

"Not unarmed, as you are."

"Oh, ouch. You're a mean elf."

"Hungry?"

"Famished."

Fenris stood and offered a hand up. "Let's find lunch."

Working comfortably together to prepare a simple meal, Anders gestured at the stacks of books in Fenris' room. "Have you read all of these?"

The elf shook his head. "Most were here when I took the mansion. I own only one book, that Hawke gave me. By Shartan."

"I know that book. What did you think of it?"

With a resigned sigh, Fenris admitted, "I have not read it. I... cannot read."

Anders nodded. "Many people can't read. You're so well-spoken, and have so damned many books, I just assumed...."

Fenris was pleased with Anders' calm acceptance of his debility. Hawke had been awkwardly uncomfortable, upon hearing it. "Most slaves aren't taught, unless they will be trained in work that requires it."

"Would you like to learn? I could teach you."

"You... would?"

"Sure. You've a good head on your shoulders. You'll pick it up in no time. Return favor, for teaching me the staff."

Fenris suddenly imagined the world that would be opened to him, if he could read. "I would be grateful."

"Excellent. If you feel adventurous, we can delve into writing, too. Up to you, of course."

"Anything you're willing to teach, I'm willing to learn." He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such anticipation. Perhaps, never. It wasn't that he’d spent his life desperate to read. It had just seemed something he would never have. Knowledge was power, and there was knowledge to be found in books. 

"Careful what you wish for...."

"... I might receive it? Truer words were never spoken. But, I believe I am safe with you."

Anders laughed; the light, joyful laugh he issued more frequently as time went by. "You just keep thinking that."

Fenris wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but he enjoyed the happiness shared in the moment. He enjoyed many moments with Anders. In spite of his continued bouts of dolor, he was genial company. It balanced the elf's... well, he supposed he may as well own it... broodiness. 

Anders' teaching style was different from Fenris'. He was soft-spoken, and gently encouraging. In an action that nearly flattened him, Anders first taught him to recognize and read his own name.

Fenris stared at the letters Anders had written on a sheet of parchment. "That's me."

"It is."

"This... means something. It’s important."

"Names are powerful. Your name is important in defining yourself. Like you said, that's you."

"Anyone who sees it, knows it's me. Knows that I exist. Will think that I matter."

He felt the man's gaze upon him, and knew the sadness in it had nothing to do with lost magic. "You do matter, Fenris."

"I want to write it."

The light, joyful sound of Anders' mirth was in his ear. "As you wish."

Their entire first session together was simply Fenris learning to dip the quill, and shape the letters of his name on paper. Over and over, he wrote his name, feeling the power of the marks he made. Anders watched him with gentle, smiling eyes, and the elf knew he understood how it felt; proclaiming his existence with ink and paper.

Fenris had been pleased when Anders began working in his clinic, again. Not only on behalf of the poor that he helped, but because it appeared to have helped him overcome some of the grief that gripped him. And, as much as he was learning to enjoy Anders' company, Fenris also enjoyed having some time to himself when his housemate was at the clinic.

He was equally pleased Anders left Darktown before nightfall. The night he'd been delayed, Fenris had worried, which surprised him. He could no longer tell himself it was simply his promise to Hawke to watch over him. They were spending more time together than he'd had spent with any other person, excluding Danarius. Far more than he'd spent with Hawke. He didn't like the idea of Anders not coming home, again. It was that thought which had sent him looking for him.

Which had worked-out for the best, considering the battle they'd encountered in Lowtown. Which, in turn, had led to discovering Anders' potential with the quarter-staff. Sometimes, events unfolded so smoothly, Fenris couldn't help but wonder if the Maker did, indeed, play a part in it. 

He struggled with Sebastian's ideas regarding the Maker, and His part in people's lives. Even the Chantry said He had turned His back on His children. Yet, Sebastian was sure that He was present and participating in their lives. 

Fenris liked the idea that there was someone who watched over him, in a benevolent manner. Danarius had certainly watched over him, but there’d been nothing benevolent about it. The thought that the Maker cared, and heard his prayers, was heartening, if difficult, to believe. He’d pretty much come to the conclusion that the Maker did, in fact, exist. The world and all that was in it had to have been created by something. But, the idea that He actually _cared_ for him? That was simply not possible. All that had happened to him in Tevinter would not have, if the Maker gave a damn.

The evening he and Anders had discussed religion and faith was the evening Fenris had begun to reexamine their relationship. He had always considered Hawke his closest friend. He wasn’t so sure, anymore. The feeling of camaraderie he'd felt with Anders that evening, and many times, since, was greater than any he’d felt, before. 

Anders had been honest with him regarding Hawke, and his behavior toward Hawke. Frank regarding his experience with the demon. There had certainly been arguments between them. Yet, even in those, Anders had been open and respectful. He heard Fenris' point of view, and was willing to acknowledge his mistakes or apologize for strong words. Fenris appreciated honest anger more than false pretense. He didn't have to guess with Anders. What he saw, was what he got.

He began to think... this was more than a housemate, or an ally. Perhaps this was what true friendship felt like.

So, when another evening came in which Anders didn't return home at dark, concern again sent him to the clinic. He'd been at the Hanged Man, expecting Anders to join him there. With the lack of windows in the tavern, it had gotten much later than he'd realized before he began to worry. Heading into Darktown, he fully expected to find him involved in a late-arriving case.

The lantern was dark and the door stood ajar; together, bad signs. Breaking into a run, he was through the door and drawing his blade. It was quiet, the room dark. Letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, his heart jumped; Anders lay motionless on the floor. Anxiously, he felt for breath, and found it.

Lighting a lamp, and and pulling off his gauntlets, he assessed him. His hand came away from the healer's abdomen warm and sticky. He was seeping blood steadily from a set of long gashes across his belly. Cradling him in his arms, he hoisted him onto one of the clinic's cots.

"Anders!" He cupped his face, tapping his cheeks lightly. "Wake up... you need to help me help you. Anders!"

"Fenris?" Though weak, Anders roused. His eyes fluttered open, and met the elf's gaze.

Fenris nodded emphatically. "It's me. You're injured... what do you need?"

With a pained voice, he spoke, "Abomination claws... fester... I need...."

Fenris hurried to gather all Anders haltingly listed. The healer tried to take the first bottle, but his hands shook and fell weakly back to the cot. Fenris opened it, supporting his shoulders as he drank the healing and regeneration potions. He revived somewhat, but not as much as the elf would have expected.

Anders' hands fumbled with another bottle, and Fenris took it, as well.

"Pour it on the wounds... I might pass out. Follow it with another healing potion, poured over the wounds."

Fenris lifted the blood-soaked tunic away from Anders' body, and saw three ugly gashes, already festering, where an abomination's claws had slashed him. This potion looked unfamiliar; it must be one of Anders’ inventions. He poured the green liquid over the wounds. Anders arched up off the cot, teeth gritted in pain, as smoke poured from the lacerations. 

His hand latched around the elf's wrist in a punishing grip as his voice raised into a pained keen. As predicted, he suddenly collapsed, unconscious. Fenris followed with the healing potion, as instructed. He’d never seen this potion used in this way. Anders must have done some experimenting. As he watched, the gashes began to close. Not entirely, but the depths filled slightly, and the tissue surrounding the wounds lost its angry inflammation.

In a moment, Anders stirred again. He nodded. "Cover it with the dressing, just lightly." 

Fenris complied. "What happened? How did you come up against an abomination?"

Anders shook his head weakly. "Long story. Need rest, shouldn't move for a few hours. Mind if...." his voice trailed off thickly, and he fell into deep sleep.

Fenris stood, confused, looking at the sleeping man. Finally, he found a blanket to cover him. Pulling another cot alongside Anders', he sat down to wait. Where had an abomination come from? The battle obviously took place elsewhere, Anders making his way to the clinic after receiving his injury. He was fretful for answers, yet, there was nothing to do but wait. As night wore on, he lay down. Keeping one hand on the healer's arm to alert him of Anders' movements, he drifted into fitful sleep.

He awoke confused. His eyes opened to the dingy ceiling of the clinic. He felt a soft caress on his hand, and turned his head, finding the light brown eyes of the healer upon him. Anders gently stroked the hand gripping his arm.

"You came for me, again," he murmured tiredly.

"Good thing I did. You found trouble, last evening."

"Yeah. I do that."

"How do you feel?"

"Sore. Help me with the bandage? If the wounds are stable enough, I'd prefer to recover in my own bed."

The gashes were improved from the last time Fenris had seen them, but they looked downright painful. Helping to secure the dressing, he carefully pulled him upright. Gathering the supplies Anders indicated, the elf took his arm over his shoulders, and slowly guided him on the long, slow walk to Hightown. He was hard put not to simply pick him up and carry him. Fenris, of all people, understood the need for dignity. 

After a crawling journey with multiple rest-stops, they made it to the mansion. Once there, Fenris finally did scoop the healer into his arms and carry him upstairs.

"My room's fine...."

"My bed is more comfortable, the room is warmer, and I can keep a better eye on you." As Fenris helped him strip out of his bloody clothes, he commented, "You're covered in ichor... you must have done it some damage, at least."

Anders gave a weak laugh. "Lemme just say; beating an abomination to death with a stick, is a lot harder than it looks."

"That's a bit beyond your skill-level. You're lucky to be alive."

"Believe me, I know."

"You want anything to eat?"

"Water and some of that soup, if any's left."

Fenris fussed over him, arranging pillows, helping him sit upright. Finally, he sat on the edge of the bed, and waited until Anders finished eating before he demanded answers.

The healer shook his head. "You don't want to hear this."

"I most certainly do."

"It bothers you when I talk about it."

Fenris' head tilted in disbelief. "You didn't... you're still with the mage underground? Anders... that's insane!"

"Look, just because I'm not a mage anymore, doesn't mean atrocities aren't still being perpetrated on mages in the Gallows... on mages anywhere, for that matter...."

The elf was livid. "What do you hope to accomplish? To set every mage loose, regardless of their personal strengths or weaknesses? To allow them to make decisions they aren't prepared to make, or put themselves into situations they aren't ready to handle? That's what happened last night, isn't it? You led some weak-minded mage to freedom, and something spooked them, and they fell to a demon's call, and became an abomination. And, it nearly killed you."

Anders rubbed his eyes wearily. "Pretty much. Fenris, you don't understand...."

Fenris stood, anger and fear battling for supremacy. "Don't understand what? That mages are dangerous? That the majority of apostates we run into have turned to blood magic? That when frightened or over-stressed, they leave themselves open for possession?

"Why are you doing this, Anders? You have a chance to change your life, to live free and unencumbered of all this mage and Circle nonsense. Why drag yourself back into it?" He paused when a terrible thought entered his head. "That demon of yours isn't back, is it?" 

The healer shook his head. "No, Justice is still gone. But, even so, how can I just turn my back, Fenris? You don't know what it's like to be in a Circle. The Gallows, in particular. Mages are imprisoned, and treated like slaves. I don't understand why you, of all people, don't have empathy...."

"Because they are _not_ treated like slaves." Fenris felt the cold anger he always did when they discussed this topic. "You have _no_ idea what you're talking about. You spout these words about the treatment of mages, and dare to compare it to my life, and you haven't a clue what I went through, what slaves all over the Imperium go through. 

"I have no doubt that bad things happen in the Gallows. Yet, I promise you, I'd have traded my life as a slave for a life in the Gallows, in a heartbeat. Listen to me, Anders! I've seen worse. I've lived worse. And, all of it was done at the hand of mages. 

"Blood sacrifice, blood magic, torture, destruction of lives and families.... All the work of mages. Sanctioned by the mages who make the laws of the country. No recourse, no options. No hope. You dare to compare my horror with that of yours? You wish me to have sympathy for the kind of people who enacted it? I made the mistake of trusting one mage outside of the Imperium. What is he doing now? Performing blood magic, at the side of yet another blood mage. 

"The mage who turned into an abomination and attacked you probably seemed innocent, persecuted. Perhaps he had been assaulted, perhaps he feared being made Tranquil. Does that give him the right to put countless citizens in danger due to the weakness that turned him into an abomination? Imagine that thing loose in Darktown, or the Alienage, or the marketplace. It could have killed dozens, even hundreds, before it was slain."

Anders sat silent when Fenris stopped his discourse. The elf could not read his expression to guess his thoughts. He feared he had said too much, yet he feared if he didn't speak now, he never would. 

"I'm sorry, Fenris." 

He waited for more, but that was all the healer said. 

"For what?"

"For what you've been through, for what other slaves still go through. For your distrust of mages, for Hawke falling to blood magic. For your feelings about helping mages, and for the fact that I can't just forget their suffering."

Fenris hung his head in defeat. "You still plan to help them."

The healer sighed, heavily. "I cannot ignore the suffering of those in the Circle because others have suffered more. Even if one of those others was you. The mages that hurt you aren’t the same mages that are being hurt, now. I was once one of them. I have to help."

"You'll die in the process, Anders. You'll be killed, by a templar or an abomination."

"I won't be leading any more escapes."

Fenris blinked in surprise. "But, you just said...."

"That I couldn't just forget their suffering. I will look for another way to help. You were right about some things, Fenris. Circle mages, for the most part, aren't prepared for the outside world. I should have realized this, long ago, but Justice skewed my perception. Most mages have lived in the Circle since early childhood, and have no idea how to live outside of it. The mage I tried to help last night, panicked and transformed when a single templar showed up. No attempt to defend himself, not even the first thought of backing me up when I tried to defend him. He up and transformed into an abomination, demolished the templar, and then turned on me. 

"This wasn't the first mage to change when things went south. This wasn't the first time things went south. I can't protect them, I can't match a templar in battle, and I can't keep myself safe when it all goes to shit. And, you're right... what if that had happened after I'd left him on his own? It would have been a nightmare."

Fenris felt his anger and ready arguments drain away. He sat limply back down. 

"I feel at a loss. I don't know what to say."

"What you said was enough. I'm glad to have heard it. I understand your feelings better, now." The healer frowned deeply.

"What is it? Do your wounds pain you?"

"Yes, but that's not it. I understand why you feel as you do toward mages. But, I was a mage. It bothers me that you couldn’t accept me when I had magic, but you can now. I’m no different, Fenris. I’m the same man I used to be.” 

"You're not the same man. Minus that demon, your true self has surfaced. Certainly you possess many of the same traits as before; your compassion, your intelligence, your questionable humor. It was hard to see those through the mania the demon spun. You're much calmer, now. _You_ come through, not the demon’s influence.” 

“So, if I’d lost Justice, but hadn’t lost my magic....”

“If you still had magic... I don’t know. I looked beyond Hawke’s magic. Could I have looked beyond yours? I would hope I could see the man that you are, the man I’ve come to know. But, I think we both know that’s not likely.”

“The man that I am, now; the man you’ve come to know... is half the man I used to be," he grumbled. 

"Perhaps you feel like half of what you were, but it's your better half that remains. The half that cares for his fellow man. The half that has the fortitude to rebuild his life after suffering such a loss. The half that still stands strong for his beliefs, regardless of what others tell him... including me. With or without magic, those are the qualities that make you who you are. And, if you're half a man, you are still more than most."

He was surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. He spoke truly, he wasn’t patronizing Anders, but it wasn’t his way to speak so... rhapsodically. Yet, he knew losing his magic had been a tremendous blow to Anders' self-confidence. Fenris felt he needed to hear he was more than just his magic. In return, he was surprised to see a blush on the healer’s cheeks. 

"Well, we'll see about that,” Anders said. “I'm still not sure just who I am."

"You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that you won't be running any rescue missions."

"I know. A free mage is your worst nightmare."

"I have worse nightmares than that. Finding you half-dead in your clinic is among them."

"Fenris...." Anders' face spoke with eloquence. Empathy, gratitude, affection.

"Getting to know you, this rediscovered you, has held unexpected felicity. The idea of you dying on some foolhardy mission... it's not something I wish to imagine."

Anders' eyes were warm with appreciation. "I'll keep that firmly in mind. I wouldn't want to let my staunchest supporter down."

Fenris' lips curved in a faint smile. "For now, let's get you healed. We have much to do, between training with the staff and learning to read. You need to be in top condition."

Anders returned the smile. "I'm sure with you as my nursemaid, I'll be fit, in no time."

"Fit to be tied, is more like it." Fenris helped him rearrange his pillows. "Sleep. The walk here took much out of you."

"You're bossy."

"You have seen nothing, yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has good reason for his distrust of mages. Anders has good reason for wanting to help mages.
> 
> Each needed to understand those reasons before they could truly form a friendship. 
> 
> Fenris isn't saying he _wouldn't_ have come to appreciate Anders, if he'd retained his magic. He just isn't sure; which is fair. And, it's not his loss of magic that makes Anders' better half stand out... it's the loss of Justice's/Vengeance's influence. He wasn't the same man while joined to the spirit, that's made clear in the game, and in the short story by Anders' writer, Jennifer Hepler, found at: http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Anders_(short_story)


	8. Faithful Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Anders heals, he comes to a better understanding of the broody elf.
> 
> Hawke and the gang return.

 

Fenris was bossy, alright. He refused to let Anders out of bed except to use the loo. He was less of a nursemaid than a drill sergeant, but he willingly helped with whatever he needed. From supporting him when he walked, to helping him change his dressings, Fenris was on-hand and on-task.

“Your hair is getting longer,” Fenris commented as he combed his snarled hair. Lying on a pillow all day ratted the fine stuff into knots. The elf had a deft touch at straightening them. “The brand is completely hidden now.”

“Yeah, it grows pretty fast. Drove my mother crazy, when I was young. You know, I’ve never seen you cut your hair, but it doesn’t get any longer.”

“It doesn’t grow longer than it is.”

“How is that?”

Fenris shrugged. “It has always been just as it is; at least, since the markings. Strands fall out, and grow back in, but never longer or shorter than you see it.”

“Maybe a side effect of the lyrium?”

While bed-bound, Fenris maintained nearly constant attendance, pulling a chair next to the bed to keep Anders company. He haltingly read aloud. He played cards with him. He simply spoke with him, about past battles they’d engaged in together, the Chant, their time before Kirkwall.

“I lived on the road for three years,” Fenris said. “The hunters were constantly at my heels, however many I killed. It wasn’t until Hawke took down their largest party to date that they stopped their constant harassment.”

“Why do you think they did?”

Fenris shrugged. “Perhaps Danarius felt I would let down my guard, given enough time. He knows I am here, he sent Hadriana, after all.”

“That was almost three years ago. Could he have given up?”

“Danarius? I doubt it. I can’t imagine he wishes me back as his slave, after this much trouble. I’ve been too fouled by freedom. But, these markings are a significant investment. He’ll want the lyrium. Give him time. He’ll come for me, again.”

“Hawke won’t let him get to you. None of us will.”

“I have to trust that. I am not strong enough alone to defeat him.”

“That was the only good thing about having a force of Vengeance in me. Justice wouldn’t allow me to be taken captive. And, I don’t know how, but he was able to heal mortal wounds. The templar that tried to take me in when we joined, he ran his blade clean through my heart. It was a killing blow. Yet.... not even a scar to show.”

“That’s... unnerving.”

“You’re telling me. I was worried I was a possessed corpse, for a few days.”

It was full winter, and the house was cold. Even with a fire in the hearth, Anders could see the elf shiver sitting next to the bed. Finally, he had enough.

“Fenris, just get under the blankets. It’s too cold to be so far from the fire.” The look Fenris gave him made him laugh, hands pressed to his wounds.

“In bed... with you?”

“I won’t bite... hard, anyway. We were in and out of each other’s beds in the Circle, all the time.” Another look of dismay made him grin. “Not just for that. There was no privacy in the Circle. If you wanted to talk alone, you waited until dark, and slipped into their bed, and whispered under the covers. I can’t lay here and watch you turn blue.”

So, Fenris began sharing his bed for conversation. It was much warmer. It also leant an air of privacy to their talks. Certainly they were alone in the house, but lying under the blankets, facing one another... it was comfortable. Anders noticed Fenris spoke more openly when in bed than elsewhere.

Anders healed quickly, though he felt it took an eternity. If he'd still had his magic, he would have healed himself in an instant. As it was, he was fortunate to have his knowledge-base, and well-prepared potions. Abomination and demon wounds fester, some were poisonous. Without magical intervention, they were slow to heal, and often fatal. In reasonable time, his wounds began to close, and his strength return.

He'd had been heartbroken by the unfortunate experience with the mage who'd turned abomination. Anders had become increasingly aware of his own vulnerability, with the few rescue missions he'd made since losing his magic. He'd also begun to question the wisdom of that particular solution. When he'd been joined with Justice, he'd been fueled by a no-holds-barred belief that every mage needed to be freed, as quickly as possible. Now... reason tempered his beliefs. Not every mage could be trusted; just as not every farmer, merchant, or soldier could be trusted.

He also realized that setting mages loose upon the populace could make reform less likely, simply due to public fear. Those mages who turned to blood magic, or became abominations, fostered the belief that mages were inherently dangerous. Change would need to come from within. Fortunately, since they’d killed Alrik, Circle mages reported the worst of the depravity in the Gallows had ceased. However, it was still bad, and Meredith seemed to be losing her grip on sanity by the day.

He'd been incredibly touched by Fenris' heartfelt oration of his beliefs. He’d spoken eloquently and honestly, bringing Anders to a greater understanding of him than he'd had before. And, he'd been right, on many counts. And, learning of the elf's appreciation for him... that had been eye-opening. Certainly, Anders had come to appreciate Fenris.

Twice, now, he’d come to his rescue; when he’d been branded, and now. Three times, if he counted the night Anders was late leaving the clinic. That night had been as close to providential an event as he'd had ever seen. Not only had there been a situation that called for Fenris’ protection, but the elf had quickly realized his potential with the staff.

Anders looked back on the course of events that had played-out since he was first brought to the mansion. Everything from Fenris stopping Anders from taking his own life, to Anders telling him the truth of Hawke. From Fenris teaching him the staff, to Anders teaching him to read. The many conversations and arguments they’d shared, ranging from politics to food to theology. Anders simply couldn’t deny that something was bringing the two of them together in this mutual benefaction.

As he lay in the bed, feeling the deep, aching, itch of his healing wounds, he thought about words Sebastian had said. They pestered his mind enough that he finally asked Fenris to have the archer pay him a visit.

“Not if you plan to bedevil him,” the elf had replied. “I respect Sebastian. I won’t offer him up for your amusement.”

“No, I really want to talk to him. I promise I’ll play nice.”

When Sebastian followed the elf through the door, Fenris left them to talk alone.

Taking Fenris' chair by the bed, the archer didn’t seem at all surprised to be there. “What’s on your mind, Anders?”

“You know I don’t agree with the Chantry.”

“Aye, I do.”

“And, it’s hard to forget you were this close to turning me in to the templars.”

“And, yet, I didn’t.”

Anders scowled to himself, thinking. “I’ve had so many thoughts going through my head. You and I aren’t friends, but I don’t know who else would be able to talk about this.”

“Whatever our relationship has been, I’m first a priest. Would it help to view me not as Sebastian, but as a Brother in the Chantry?”

“No. The Chantry’s full of shit, and those in power are part of the system of abuses growing unchecked in the Circle.”

“Is that what you’ve asked me here to discuss?”

“No. I... maybe this was a bad idea.”

“I don’t think so, Anders. You’re reaching out, and I would like to help, if I can.”

“It’s just... I feel....” He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Let me guess. You feel that your life is in turmoil? You feel confused? The future is unclear?”

“Well, yes. Pretty much. Justice... we were a mess. But, he gave me purpose. He guided me. My future was set... such as it was.”

“Do you miss the demon that possessed you?”

“He wasn’t a demon. And, yes, in some ways, I miss him. I just feel so damned lost. You said the Maker has laid a path before me. But, I don’t see it. You believe He has a plan. But, I don’t know what it is.” He paused. “My father... he used to be able to see so clearly when the Maker was at work. Even when he didn’t understand it, himself, his faith made it so easy to just accept that everything would be as it should. I wish I had that kind of faith, again.”

Sebastian’s expression was understanding. “You had a stronger faith, as a child?”

“Oh, yeah. I knew the Maker watched over me. Knew it like I knew the sky was blue and my parents loved me. I sang the Chant with a devotion no cleric ever felt.”

“What happened to that faith?”

“Magic. My father. The Circle.”

Sebastian looked mildly confused, but when Anders didn’t offer more, he didn’t press.

“I would never presume to know the Maker’s will, Anders, but there are times when His acts are clear, to those willing to see. Something so impossible as losing both your magic and the demon within you must have been planned by the Maker. Who else could have performed such an act?”

“A templar with a Tranquil branding iron, and really good aim.”

The archer laughed. “Possibly. Who is to say the Maker didn’t put him there, to do as He willed? There are times when coincidence is just that... coincidence. But, when I look at the path you have walked since that moment with the brand... do you see it, Anders? The second chance you have been given, after losing so much?”

“Sort of. I’ve been thinking about it ever since Donnic mentioned it. I am not thankful to have lost my magic. I don’t think I ever will be. But, the events that have unfolded, since....” He shook his head. “That’s why I asked you to come. You don’t know me very well, but suffice it to say; I have a long history of monumentally bad decisions. I’d hate to screw up a divine second chance. Because, believe me, I could do it.”

“We all fear doing just that. And, most of us do, from time to time. Do you know Prayers For the Despairing?”

“I was raised on it.”

“Then, you know the Maker will not leave you lost in the shadows, Anders. He will guide you. But, not always in a manner you will recognize. He’ll send others, and bring about events, to shepherd you when His path is muddled to your eye.”

Anders nodded. “Fenris.”

“I believe he plays a large part in finding your path. He has been a great help to you. And, I think, you to him. He bears deep wounds from his past, and also struggles with faith. Perhaps, together, you’ll both find your way.”

Anders felt an old, almost forgotten shiver run down his spine. He hadn’t felt such an auspice since childhood. He hadn’t felt such a yearning for the certainty of faith since he’d gone into the Circle. He didn’t know what to do with it.

Sebastian spoke gently. “Would you like me to pray with you?”

He nodded, surprised by his own answer. “I would. But... will you ask Fenris if he’d join us?”

“Of course.”

As Anders began his final days of recovery, he could see that he and Fenris were, indeed, leading one another down new paths. And, in so doing, they were growing into friendship. Sebastian hadn’t given him the answers he’d sought; he couldn’t tell Anders where his path would lead. He certainly couldn’t tell him what losing his magic would afford him, if anything. But, the Brother had helped clarify those thoughts that had badgered him. For the first time in twenty years, Anders felt the faint touch of the Maker’s hand in his life.

He thought he could see it in Fenris’ life, as well. He watched as the elf went about his day; caring for Anders, playing cards, talking. Anders... well, everyone, really... thought of Fenris as broody, prickly, angry. What Sebastian had said echoed in his mind. Fenris wasn’t any of those. What he was, was hurt. He had a lifetime of pain ingrained in him, and he was tense with the expectation of more. From that perspective, Anders understood the sudden bites and silent scowls that had so often ended conversations.

Yet, as he guided Anders through his first practice sessions with the staff after he healed, Fenris was thoughtful, solicitous of his debility, and calm in his demeanor. All while avoiding coddling the man. With careful training, Anders was back up to fighting strength in short order.

He was pleased to get back to working with Fenris on reading and writing. The elf was astute, and a fast-learner. Anders enjoyed teaching him, and delighted in his progress. He seldom smiled openly, but Anders saw the rare Fenris-grin when a difficult concept came to him. He clearly enjoyed learning.

"The... en-em-y... of my... en-em-y... is my... f-fren-fen-fenris?"

Anders smiled. How appropriate. "The word is friend. But, I like your reading, better: The enemy of my enemy is my Fenris.”

The elf smirked. "Indeed. I will be your Fenris, in a time of need."

Anders chuckled. “You already have been, several times.”

“I will continue to do so.”

"Hey, it's getting late. Want to head to the Hanged Man?"

"Let's."

Anders continued to enjoy visiting with Donnic. He could see why the guardsman and Fenris had formed a friendship, they were much alike in demeanor. He’d also found a new felicity with Sebastian. He never would have thought they’d have much in common, but the healer respected his devotion to the Maker, if not his stalwart defense of the Chantry and the Grand Cleric. Since their talk, Anders found he could occasionally enjoy talking with Sebastian. They had some oddly engaging conversations.

The Brother had a past of debauchery and defiance. Although he wouldn’t give sordid details, which Anders would have loved to hear, he spoke openly of the life that had led him to the Chantry. And, led was the correct word; he’d been more or less dragged through the door, and kept under watch to see that he remained.

“If you went through that, how can you not understand the way mages feel, being forced into the Circle?”

“I was not a danger to anyone but myself, Anders. Well, myself, and my family’s reputation. There’s quite a difference.”

“Not when you talk about being forced into confinement against your will.”

“Aye. That much is true. Yet, don’t you see the risk that magic can pose in an uncontrolled setting?”

“Discounting Justice, how much of a risk was I? How much of a risk is Hawke?”

“It’s difficult to discount your Justice, Anders. I only knew you as a mage and an abomination. I’ll admit, you did fine work with your healing. You still do. But, you do not represent all mages. And Hawke... I understand he’s been exploring blood magic. You tell me how much of a risk he is.”

“I can’t. He’s the Champion of Kirkwall, though. It’d be pretty hard for him to do something truly horrendous with the scrutiny he’s under.”

“Yet, you won’t say he’s not a risk.”

“OK, he was a bad example. I’m telling you, all mages aren’t risks. The Hero of Ferelden is a mage. She travelled with King Alistair and two other mages, one of whom was an apostate. They defeated the Archdemon and ended the Blight. I served under her in the Wardens, along with another apostate. We defeated an incursion of darkspawn after the Blight. How much of a risk do you imagine any of them were?”

Sebastian looked thoughtful. “True. Yet, even they were under the watch of the Grey Wardens, to some extent.”

“But, not in a templar-ridden Circle. They were loose in Thedas, and did no harm.”

“Aye... I’ll concede that.”

Anders hadn't really expected that response. He savored it. Such a small victory, yet sweet, nonetheless.

Tonight, as they walked through the door of the tavern, a familiar laugh reached their ears. Sitting with Sebastian was a beardless dwarf and a pantsless pirate. Their greetings were enthusiastic.

"Blondie! Broody! Long time, no see!"

“Oooo... just what I needed! My favorite boys.”

Fenris and Anders found seats at the table. "When did you get back?" Anders asked with a grin. He liked both Varric and Isabela.

"Early afternoon. I think Aveline dragged Donnic back to their place, and Hawke went hunting for Daisy."

Isabela sighed. "Nothing like a welcome-home smiting. Either of you interested?" She cocked her head with a wink.

Fenris cleared his throat. "Ehrm... No. Thank you, anyway." Anders smirked at the elf's reddening ears.

"How'd the trip go?" he asked.

Varric finished off his ale. "Ahh, the usual. Crooked nobles, deadly monsters, a few Qunari. Hawke won the trophy for the hunt. The ham tasted of despair."

"Sounds great."

"If you like that sort of thing. What's new around here?"

Sebastian chuckled as Anders and Fenris glanced at each other.

Varric looked between the three men. "Oh... there's a story here. Give."

Anders took a deep breath. "I lost Justice and my magic. I've been staying at Fenris' mansion, since."

Both dwarf and pirate sat in stunned silence, jaws dropped.

Varric recovered first. "I’m not sure which part of that statement is more surprising. But, _how?"_

Anders turned in his seat enough to lift the hair at the back of his neck. “I ran afoul of a few templars. Fenris saved my life.”

"Maker's breath," Varric said softly. "Why aren't you...?"

Anders shook his head. "All I can figure is Justice had something to do with it."

“You really lost your magic? I mean... it’s gone?”

“Yeah. It really is gone.”

“Damn, Blondie. I’m sorry.”

For the first time in a while, Anders felt tears start to well up. “Thanks, Varric.”

“I can’t imagine what that’s like. I guess if I lost both Bianca and my storytelling, all at once... that’s the closest I can come.”

“You don’t have to experience it, to appreciate it. That you’re trying, means a lot.”

“And, that stick-in-the-mud is gone?” Isabela asked.

“Yes. I’m not sure what happened to him, but Justice is gone.”

“Well, it seems like that would be a good thing,” she continued. “But, losing your magic... that’s rotten luck.”

Ordering a round of drinks, Anders and Fenris filled-in the details of the past few months.

Varric still looked a bit stunned. "So, Broody took care of you in your time of need, is helping you learn a new weapon, you’re healing without magic, and the two of you are getting along?"

Anders shrugged. “That’s the gist of it, yes.”

“Hawke’s gonna flip.”

Anders and Fenris shared another glance.

“OK, you two need to stop sharing those mysterious glances. It’s all just too much to take in. Bicker a little, or something.”

Isabela spoke up. “No... do the mysterious thing more. But, add a bit of smoldering.”

“Rivaini, if they start smoldering, you’ll be the one going up in flames.”

“Oh, I hope so.”

The next day, Anders looked up when a familiar figure came through the clinic door. Seeing Hawke’s disheveled head and beard set his heart fluttering in the weak, habitual way it always had. Even after breaking his heart and turning to blood magic, Hawke's charisma had an effect.

There was no cocky grin or jovial remark from the man, today. His eyes were serious, and mournful.

"Anders... I just spoke to Varric...."

"And?"

"Your magic...." Hawke's voice was rough with emotion.

Anders nodded.

Hawke pulled him into his arms. “Anders... I'm so, so sorry...."

He returned the embrace with relief. As gratified as he’d been by the others’ sympathy and condolences, only another mage could truly understand. Despite his reservations about Hawke, the comfort of shared pain washed over him, and left him clinging to the mage.

“I can’t even imagine how you feel,” Hawke said. “I don’t think I’d even want to live.”

Anders nodded, still holding tight. “I didn’t, at first. Fenris wouldn’t let me die.”

Hawke loosened his grip, looked closely at him. “How are you, now?”

He shrugged. “Better. It’s still hard, but I’m getting by.”

“You look... good. Something’s been for the best.”

“I think that’s losing Justice.”

“Right. He rode you pretty hard, sometimes. I gotta say, I’m impressed you’re still running the clinic. How’s that working for you?”

Anders smiled proudly. “Great! It’s amazing what can be done with non-magical treatments. Some things would be easier with magic... everything would be easier with magic... but, people are still getting what they need.”

“I’m surprised you’re doing this.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, Justice isn’t driving, anymore, right? Isn’t that why you did all this?”

"I was a healer before Justice, Hawke. I do this because people need help.”

“Always the do-gooder.”

“What do you mean?” Was Hawke teasing, admiring, or insulting him?

“Never mind. So, you’re living with Fenris, then?”

“Yes. We get along well enough.”

“Merrill’s moving in with me.”

“Oh.”

“That bother you?”

“Not that, no.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Hawke... you accepted me when I was joined with Justice, so I don’t want to come off as preachy. But... blood magic? I haven’t said anything, before, but....”

“But, now you’re not a mage, you can judge me?”

“No. That’s not...”

“I don’t need your approval, Anders. Not for my choice of magic, and not for my choice of partner.”

“I wasn’t trying to....”

“Well, let’s not let it come between us. I hear you’re using a quarter-staff?”

Anders’ head spun slightly, as always, with Hawke’s mercurial moods. “Uh, yes. I’m a ways from proficient, yet.”

“Hey, if you want, you can come along on a few jobs. As an extra, you know, to get some battle experience under your belt.”

“That would be great. I’ll let Fenris decide when I’m ready.”

Hawke laughed. “I bet he just loves bossing you around. Finally has a mage under his heel, just like he always wanted.”

“What are you talking about? Fenris isn’t like that.”

“Whatever you say. Hey, really, I just came to tell you I’m sorry you lost your magic. I really am. I need to head to Merrill’s, help her move her things to the estate.”

After Hawke had left the clinic, Anders felt blown-out. Hawke had a way of leaving someone drained, both pleasantly and otherwise.

It had been a slow day, and Anders was hardly able to concentrate after that conversation. He closed-up, and headed home. He felt despondent, and wanted nothing more than the quiet mansion, and a warm fire.

Fenris looked up in surprise when he came into the elf’s room. “You’re home early. Everything alright?”

Anders shook his head, taking a seat before the hearth. “Hawke paid a visit.”

Fenris crossed the room and leaned against the mantle. “What happened?”

Anders tried to relay the events as they occurred, but found himself floundering. “It was just... first he was sympathetic, then he was insulting. And, why he imagined you're some sort of bastard taking advantage of my situation, was beyond me.”

It was a moment before the elf responded. “Am I? Taking advantage of your situation?”

“Hardly. It might be said that I was taking advantage of your situation. You’ve been great... beyond great. Unexpectedly generous. Thoughtful. Supportive. Maker’s breath, Fenris, you’ve been the best friend I’ve ever had.”

He was silent, again, studying Anders. “I’m your friend?”

“Well... I certainly think so. Maybe I spoke out of turn?” He watched the elf anxiously for his reply.

“No. You didn’t.” He nodded, as though coming to a decision. “Yes. We are friends.”

Grinning hugely, his despondency gone, Anders stood and pulled Fenris into a tight hug. He felt him startle slightly, then, hesitantly return the embrace. Fenris didn’t try to pull away when Anders allowed himself sink into the warmth of their connection. It felt so damn good, to just hold someone. Much more-so than Hawke’s earlier embrace. Fenris was someone safe, someone who cared; someone he cared for, in return.

“I’m so grateful the Maker saw fit to make us friends,” he murmured.

“You believe He had something to do with this?”

Anders chuckled. “You know us... it had to be divine intervention.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

“Yours was the voice in my darkness... the song heard from the stillness. Thank you, for everything you’ve done.”

“You’re welcome.”

Pulling away from the embrace with a lightness of heart he’d not felt since childhood, Anders gave the elf a smile. “You were reading when I came in. Would you like to work on it, together?”

Fenris mirrored the healer’s expression. “Very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anagram: FRIEND and FENRIS share five of six letters. :-)
> 
> This chapter had a fair amount of revision. I wanted Anders' friends to really come through with their sympathy. Well, Hawke kinda mucks his up, but he's... Hawke.


	9. A Slave's Suffering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders learns details of Fenris' time in slavery.

Fenris was awash with wonder as they moved to the table to read. He had a friend. A true friend. A friendship beyond what he’d ever imagined was possible. 

He considered Donnic to be like a friend. It was a very quiet sort of thing. They talked a little, usually about other people, rather than themselves. It worked for them. Cards, safe conversation. But, they didn’t really know each other.

Sebastian was... also friend-like. His conversation was almost all about Fenris, and the Maker. Sometimes, they talked about events or people, but as with Donnic, they seldom spoke of themselves. They didn’t really know each other.

He’d once thought Hawke was his friend. Perhaps, he was... of a sort. Fenris had shared things with Hawke he’d never shared with anyone else. But, even if he could look past the blood magic, the caliber of friendship he shared with Anders was far greater than what Hawke had ever, or could ever, give him.

As Anders patiently explained the tricks of grammar, Fenris found it hard to give the attention he deserved. Their conversation ran through his mind. His belly glowed with the remembered warmth of Anders' embrace. Only Hawke had ever held him; and, that had been all heat, frantic, confusing for Fenris. Being held by Anders was like being wrapped in the warmest, snuggest of blankets. It was comfortable and safe. There were no groping hands, no startling kisses.

Not that he hadn’t found pleasure in Hawke’s seduction. It had just happened so fast, with so much he didn’t understand, and what he knew of bed pleasures didn’t fit. Fenris hadn’t been ready for any of it.

When Anders embraced him... it was something else, altogether. Something good. Something without ulterior motive. Something Fenris would like to feel, again. 

“You with me, Fenris?”

He was jerked from his reverie. “I apologize. My mind isn’t where it should be.”

“Where is it?”

He hesitated. “Friendship... and Hawke... and you... and, our embrace.”

Anders grinned. “You always answer so honestly. Well, it’s fair to say the same things are on my mind.”

“What were you thinking, about those things?”

“Well, let’s see. How Hawke was so unrepentant about being a blood mage. How he can be such a great guy, and at the same time, such an ass. And... how kind you are, how much about you I never imagined, how smart you are. About friendship... how I’ve had two true friends in my life, Karl and you. How lucky I am for both. And, our embrace... how nice it felt, and how much I’d like to feel it again.”

Fenris blinked at him. “You think I am kind?”

“I know you are. Don’t worry, your secret's safe with me. What were you thinking?”

“Except for the part about Karl... much the same.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Fenris was, again, slightly startled when Anders pulled him into his arms. Fenris smirked, and wrapped his arms about him in return. The embrace was awkward, given their positions, but just as warm and comforting.

He felt Anders’ hands slowly rub along his spine. Tentatively, he copied the gesture. 

“This feels nice,” the healer said softly. 

“Yes,” he replied. They were quiet a moment, just enjoying the contact. “Do most friends hold each other in this way?” 

“Mmm... not usually, I don’t think. I’m a big hugger, though. Give me half a chance, I’ll be wound around you.”

Fenris snorted. “Apparently, I’ll give you that chance.” 

“One thing Hawke said, today... he offered to take me along on jobs, to get some battle-training. I said it was up to you. What do you think?” 

Fenris liked the rumble of Anders’ voice, vibrating against his chest. “You could handle run-of-the-mill brigands and thieves. But, I want to be there. I don’t trust Hawke not to put you into a situation you can’t handle.”

“Great. I’d like to try my moves in the real world.”

The elf chuckled. “Such as they are,” he teased dryly. He liked this... holding and talking. It felt like... like when they lay in bed and talked. Warm, and intimate.

“Oh, I’ve got moves, Fenris. You should see me do my Spicy Shimmy,” the healer began moving in his seat, humming a tune.

Fenris chuckled. “You do that in the middle of battle, you’ll fell our enemies with laughter.”

Anders joined his mirth. “Hey... it’s supper time, and I’m hungry. Eat in, or Hanged Man?”

“Hanged Man. If I get enough ale in you, perhaps you’ll demonstrate your Spicy Shimmy for the crowd.”

As winter moved toward spring, they grew to know one another better. Although Anders had moved back into his own room after healing from the abomination attack, nearly every night one of the men would end up in the other’s bed, buried under the blankets for warmth, as they shared more of their pasts, their thoughts, their opinions. They’d talk late into the night, until fatigue finally drove them to sleep in their own beds.

Fenris felt comfortable revealing his inner thoughts in those moments, lying in the darkness. Anders never judged him, never ridiculed, always listened respectfully. It was heady stuff, this friendship. It was liberating.

He talked of Tevinter. He spoke of the months with the Fog Warriors. He even spoke of some of his time as a slave. Anders told him of his time as an apostate, his time as a Grey Warden, his time in the Circle.

“If intimate relationships were not allowed, how did you manage to have so many bed-partners?”

“I learned to be very quiet. Which wasn’t easy. You know how vocal I am.”

“Indeed.”

“It wasn’t hard during the day, if you could find an empty closet or wardrobe. In the dorms, at night... the beds squeaked, and every moan seemed to echo. It was kind of hot, though, trying to be quiet.”

Fenris tried to imagine it. His sexual history was much different from Anders’. 

“Were slaves allowed to have relationships?” Anders asked.

“Only with their masters and mistresses.”

“I meant sex.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“You mean.... With their owners?”

“Many masters use slaves for pleasure. It’s expected. Especially if they’re nobles who prefer the same gender.”

“And... slaves are ok with this?”

“It doesn’t matter how the slaves feel about it. What matters is that they please their masters.”

He could hear Anders’ throat working to form a reply. “But... that’s....”

“... that’s life as a slave.”

“Thank the Maker you were a just a bodyguard.”

Fenris frowned to himself. He’d never revealed all of his history, before. He didn’t want his life gossiped about. But, this was Anders. “I was whatever Danarius commanded me to be.”

He heard an intake of breath. “... No. No... Fenris, tell me that you weren’t....”

“I was his favored slave. He often commanded me to attend his body.”

He was abruptly pulled into a fierce embrace. “Oh, Maker, Fenris... I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

Fenris let himself be held. “It was long ago. It’s over.”

“But, it’s not. Those things stay with us. You were... he... that fucking bastard!”

“Anders, it’s....”

“And, then, Hawke... did he hurt you, Fenris? I swear, I’ll....”

“No, Anders, he didn’t hurt me. Not physically, at least.” He was surprised, and a bit confused, by Anders’ reaction to what was simply a fact of slavery. He hadn’t enjoyed serving Danarius that way, but, hadn't anticipated this response. It was... nice... for someone to be outraged on his behalf.

“Good. I’d hate to have to kill him.”

Fenris sighed. “Don’t take your anger at Danarius out on Hawke. My relations with my former master were the least of my concerns. His deeds, that I witnessed... the blood sacrifice I was present for... the experiments he conducted on the markings... there was much more than sex to make my life misery, Anders. Hadriana alone was a torment to last a lifetime.”

Anders pulled him closer. “Fenris... you know you didn’t deserve that kind of treatment, right? You know that?”

“I do. I didn’t intend to upset you, in telling you. Would you rather I'd not?”

“No. I’m glad you told me.”

Anders didn’t let go of him, that night. Sleep claimed them while embraced. 

Most of their conversations weren’t so intense. Often, they gossiped about their circle of friends, or local intrigue. Anders told jokes and unlikely stories until Fenris’ ribs ached from laughing. Indeed, he'd never laughed so much in his life, as he did with Anders. 

He noticed Anders spent more time with their companions, particularly Varric, than in the past. It was the easy-going nature that was coming out in him. Without Justice, he was relaxed, easily amused... charming. Not charming in Hawke’s seductive way, simply... likable.

He exchanged ribald tales with Isabela... well, he’d always exchanged ribald tales with Isabela. Now, he was much more engaged, and his laughter rang freely. Fenris wondered if he was bedding her, but didn’t pry. If Anders wanted to share that with him, he would. 

Fenris began accompanying Hawke on more jobs. Aveline was having trouble maintaining a presence with Meredith’s increasing use of templars for city services. Although he didn’t need the money, the elf did appreciate the opportunity to take Anders on live-runs. He always asked about the opponents they expected to meet before agreeing to join the band. Hawke was easy-going about it, and seemed interested in Anders' progress with his new weapon. He also liked having a healer along.

Initially, Anders had trouble meeting battle, but for a reason Fenris hadn’t considered. Mages typically stayed in the rear of a fighting group, for safety, and a better view for area-of-effect spells. So, that’s where Anders instinctively put himself. With a few battles under his belt, he learned to follow Fenris into the melee. 

Fenris was pleased with how well Anders did. He became a bit disoriented with multiple adversaries. The rest of the group kept him in their sights, and when he found himself in trouble, aide came from a variety of sources.Varric and Isabela always seemed to have him covered, and lauded his progress. 

When on overnight trips, he and Anders shared a tent. They initially started in their own, as they always had. Now, they found themselves talking late into the night, as was their habit. It was convenient to simply put both bedrolls in one tent.

Fenris noted Isabela approaching Anders after a a successful battle on Sundermount.

“So, sweet thing, you really know how to swing your stick."

Chuckling, Anders wiped down his weapon. “Thank you. Always nice to have one’s staff complimented.”

Fenris approached. “How’s that blade working?"

“Good. Effective. Nice to have an edged weapon on hand.”

“It’s similar to your old magic staff’s blade. I thought you’d like it.”

Hawke made his way across the wooded glenn. “It’s getting late. We’d better set camp. Varric, think you and Bianca can hunt up supper?”

“Has she failed you, yet?” Shouldering his crossbow, the dwarf headed into the woods.

Hawke wandered over to Fenris as he and Anders set up their tent. “Good work, Anders. You’re really getting the hang of that quarter staff.”

“I appreciate you letting me come along.”

“Anytime. So, Fenris, I just noticed you stopped wearing that crest and scarf.”

The elf looked at him warily. “Yes.”

“I never understood why you wore them, in the first place. It’s not like it was that great, or anything.”

“Sorry?” Fenris was sure he’d heard wrong.

“Come on, you gotta admit, it wasn’t exactly a night to remember.”

Fenris felt himself burn with both anger and humiliation. He was frozen to the spot. 

Anders spoke in a hiss. “Hawke! This is not the....”

“What? I’m just telling it like it is. I mean, he just rolled over and played dead. Didn’t even finish. What kind of...?”

Mortified, and nearly ready to unleash his fury, Fenris turned and strode into the trees before he did something he would regret.

Once he was sure he was out of eyesight and earshot, he leaned into the large trunk of a tree, and tried to calm his breathing. Never in his memory had he wept, but he felt as though he could, now. With shame. 

The sound of running footsteps had him whirl about. 

“Fenris...?” Anders’ voice was filled with concern. 

_“Festis bei umo canavarum,”_ he muttered angrily. He rested his forehead against the smooth, cool bark. The steps approached. 

“Was that directed at me?”

“No. Hawke,” he spat. “He’s going be the death of me. What he said....”

“He was bloody out of line.”

“Was he?”

“Damn right, he was.” Anders hesitated before speaking, again. “Fenris... I need to know... did Hawke coerce you, that night?”

He looked up in confusion. “What?”

“Were you a willing participant?” His eyes were filled with anxiety.

“Yes... fool that I was. Why?”

“What Hawke said. It sounded as though you didn’t enjoy yourself. I was concerned.”

Fenris sighed, his anger ebbing. “Hawke’s an ass, but he’s no rapist.”

“Alright.” Anders leaned against the tree, as well, gazing into the woodland.

His anger had gone, but his gut still churned with humiliation. He felt an undeniable need to express the emotions running through him. “He was wrong. I enjoyed what we did. It was better than anything I’d ever imagined.”

Anders bore an expression of clear confusion, but he listened.

“I did what I’d been trained to do. Hawke didn’t give me directions. If he had, I’d have tried to be more pleasing for him.” 

“He should have been more concerned with pleasing you, Fenris. If he thought you weren’t enjoying yourself, he should have talked to you about it.”

“But, I did enjoy myself.” He saw Anders struggle with his thoughts, then sigh.

“Let’s just sit down, and wait awhile. We’ll go back after dark.”

He was filled with relief. “Thank you.”

They sat with their backs against the tree, lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Anders spoke.

“How come slaves don’t escape, more often?”

“The punishment is severe, often death. But, more than that, escape seems futile. It’s hard to imagine another life, when your master becomes your entire world. All you know, all you care about, is the master’s needs. A slave’s life is lived for the next moment, the next command. It doesn’t matter what that command is... all that matters is obeying it.” 

“And, you felt that way about Danarius?”

“Yes. I was his slave. He was my master. My only concern was pleasing him. My life depended on it.”

“And, I compared my life in the Circle with yours. Even with all that goes on there....”

“You didn’t know. How would you?”

After dark, they quietly made their way back to camp. No one mentioned their absence. Hawke and Isabela were engaged in a lively conversation in one of the tents. Varric sat at the fire. He handed them a grouse that was kept warm over the coals. 

“I finished your tent,” the dwarf said.

“Thanks.”

“Hawke piss you off?”

“He did.”

“Yeah, he can do that. Aveline was ready to skewer him umpteen times on the trip with Tallis. He just can’t shut his mouth when he ought to.”

“I resemble that remark,” Anders admitted.

Fenris smirked. “True. But, you are rarely careless with your words. You don’t hurt those around you.”

“I’m just gonna say it,” Varric interjected. “You two as friends is still a little strange."

“Not as strange as your relationship with your weapon,” Fenris intoned.

“There is nothing strange about it. Don’t listen to him, Bianca. We call him Broody for a reason.”

Settling into their sleeping rolls, Fenris scooted close to Anders. Anders did the same, assuming their usual position for whispered bedtime conversation.

“Is Hawke bedding Isabela?” Fenris asked.

“Possibly. Which would be incredibly rude, considering he just moved Merrill into his house.”

“She’s offered to share my bed.”

_“Merrill??”_

“Isabela, fool.” He shuddered at the thought of bedding the witch.

Anders laughed loudly, and Fenris shushed him. Whispering, Anders asked, “You mean, tonight?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Are you taking her up on it?”

“No. I thought you were bedding her, though.”

“Hardly. You have no idea how many times I’ve cured her of the clap. Trust me, you don’t want in on that hot property.”

“I have less idea what to do with a woman than with a man.”

“They’re more complicated. You need to be invested to take on learning a woman’s body. Still, if you’re interested, I can give you some pointers.”

Fenris chuckled softly. “I think not.” He looked into Anders’ eyes in the dim light. They lay close enough their foreheads nearly touched, whispering so quietly as to not be heard outside their tent.

“Anders....”

“Yes?”

“What should I have done differently with Hawke?”

“You don’t want to repeat your night with him, do you?”

 _“Venhedis,_ no. I am curious what made him say it wasn’t good. I did as I had been trained. What should I have done to please him?”

“The question I want answered is: what could Hawke have done to please you?”

“You labor under false assumption. He did please me.”

Anders' brow furrowed in confusion. “Yet, you didn’t finish?”

“This is hard to discuss,” he began.

“I don’t mean to pry....”

“Just, let me think....” He considered what he wanted to say. “When I was with Danarius....”

“Who was a monumental, fucking, asshole.”

“Yes, thank you. Before Hawke, I had only ever been intimate with Danarius. I don’t know any other way to be, in bed.”

Anders listened attentively, nodding for Fenris to continue when he paused.

“He would command my attentions; or tell me to roll over for his use. Penetrative sex is painful, so I learned to become pliant. It helped.”

The anguished look Anders wore spoke volumes. “How could he treat you that way?”

“I was little better than animal, by Tevinter standards. My comfort was not worth consideration.”

“Maker, Fenris....”

“Hawke considered my comfort. When I presented myself for his use, he prepared me. There was no pain.”

“Fenris, there’s so much more to sex than just a lack of pain.”

“I do know that. I was trained to please Danarius in a variety of ways. Hawke didn’t tell me to do any of those. Yet, it seems he wanted more than what we did. What should I have done differently?”

Anders’ hand rose to cup the elf’s cheek. “Not a thing, Fenris.”

“You’re not being truthful.”

He sighed. “Hawke should have changed everything he did. He prepared you, I’ll give him that. Did he even kiss you?”

“Yes. Though, it was the first time I’d been kissed. I’m sure I didn’t respond with skill.”

“Damn him. He should have sensed your inexperience at the first kiss. Really should have known something was amiss when you rolled over and submitted. Absolutely should have done more when you didn’t reach completion.”

“I’ve never been allowed to reach completion. I didn’t expect to.”

“Oh, for the... Danarius couldn’t even let you find pleasure, if you were able?”

“Would you want an animal ejaculating in your bed?”

 _“Holy fucking shite,_ Fenris.” 

The elf sighed. “It seems that everything I did was wrong, then.”

“No!” Anders’ voice rose loudly with his exclamation. He dropped to a whisper, again. “No, Fenris. You did _nothing_ wrong. Hawke was at fault. Did he even ask if you wanted to bed him?”

“Not exactly. Things moved very fast.”

“Would you have agreed, had he asked?”

Would he have? “Probably. I was attracted to him.”

“But, not anymore?”

“No. Not anymore. Are you?”

“Not really. I mean, sometimes. But, then, he opens his mouth.”

Fenris snorted. “Yes. Exactly.”

Anders sighed. “At least he didn’t hurt you. That’s the best I can say of his behavior, that night.”

“Well, he hurt me with his words, later. And, again, tonight.”

“Yeah. I know. I'm sorry for that.”

“You would have done things differently?”

“Oh, yes. Much differently.”

“What?”

“Well, I may have been just as fast to kiss you, but once I noticed you were a bit off, there would have been a lot of talking going on.”

“About what?”

“Your experience and your comfort zone. You said it all went very fast... we would have slowed down. I’m not sure you were ready for sex, at all, that night. I probably would have just kept it at kissing, until you were ready to explore more.”

“Sex wasn’t new to me, Anders. I’d had it many times, before.”

“Under duress. Rape isn’t sex. It’s certainly not lovemaking, or sharing, or learning.”

“Hm.”

“Hm, is right.”

Both lapsed into silence as they digested the conversation they’d just had.

“Thank you for your honesty, Anders.”

“Thank you for yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there are those whose head-canon says Danarius didn't rape Fenris. I disagree. Danarius says "Once upon a time you had affection for me. I remember it fondly." And, David Gaider confirmed in an interview that Fenris and Danarius had an intimate relationship. As a slave, kept on a collar and leash, propping up furniture, there is no way that was consensual.


	10. Another Door Opens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris points out a startling fact to Anders.
> 
> The men's friendship evolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Anderfels is generally considered to be a RL Germanic equivalent; so, I'll be using German words for the Ander language. But, not a ton.
> 
> Mutter/Mutti (Moo-ter/Moo-tee) = Mother/Mom
> 
> Vater/Vati (Fah-ter/Fah-tee) = Father/Dad

It had been a couple months since Anders felt outright heartache. His still missed his magic, but the pain had lessened, considerably. Most of the time, it was a wistful yearning, not the gut-rending pain of earlier. He had to think to recall how long ago it had been since he’d gotten the brand. Almost five months. Autumn had not yet begun, and it was now late winter. 

He was growing accustomed to his new weapon, and gaining proficiency at a steady rate. Going out with Hawke’s crew was excellent training. He enjoyed the camaraderie of fighting in a group, and the ability to still provide some healing, when needed.

He’d recently discovered another avenue for his healing. A friend of Varric’s, a dwarf in Hightown, had been left with an embarrassing affliction after a visit to the Rose. There were a few barely-trained healers in Kirkwall, and for serious issues, the mage healers in the Circle often treated those in need. But, many people preferred non-magical treatment. Varric recommended Anders to his friend, for whom it was a simple matter to cure the infection. After that, Anders quickly gained a reputation for discreet, effective healing.

It wasn’t long before the mansion received the occasional visitor, looking for help with some delicate concern or another. As a non-mage healer, in Hightown, with discretion, he began to make a respectable living. As word spread, young noble women began calling on him for safe contraceptives. He never actually charged his clients; they simply gave him what they felt the treatment and confidentiality was worth. As it happened, it was worth a lot. 

Seeing just how many customers of the Rose ended up as his patients, Anders met with the madame, Lucine, and came to an agreement. He’d sell her the potions and creams, and she’d dispense them to her workers as needed. It augmented his income that much more, and helped stem the tide of disease in Hightown. He was putting away a tidy nest egg, as well as providing a public service. 

His true joy was still in treating the poor of Darktown. Some of his new income went toward supplies for the clinic. He’d had luck with several new potions, including a hangover treatment, and a pain relieving potion. Despite missing his ability to heal with magic, he was enjoying this new style of healing.

When he wasn’t healing, he’d begun spending more time with Varric. He liked the dwarf. Varric had always been accepting of him, even with Justice. He was just as accepting of him now that he’d lost his magic. They both had the gift of gab, and on those days when he really needed someone to take him out of his own head, Varric could do it.

Anders was a little surprised at Varric’s attitude toward Sebastian. Of all their companions, he really seemed to not enjoy his company, although he was civil enough to the archer.

“I don’t know, Blondie. Sure, he’s got a one-track mind for the Chantry, I guess that’s to be expected. I just have a hard time with him.”

“I had a one-track mind with Justice, and you seemed to do alright with me.”

“Yeah. You know... maybe it’s the track. The Chantry doesn’t have a lot of room for dwarves, and all. Not that I’m a believer in the Ancestors. I mean, that just doesn’t make sense. But, the Chantry sort of focuses on humans and elves. And, not very much on elves, at that. How many elven and dwarven Mothers and Brothers do you see?”

“Not many, now that you mention it.”

“You know what I think?”

“Never.”

Varric chuckled. “Well, this is just me, but you know how the magisters and Tevinter are the common enemy in the Chant? Well, dwarves don’t have a problem with the Imperium. There’s actually a treaty forbidding dwarven slaves in Tevinter. Has to do with the Ambassadoria. I think the Chantry has an unofficial beef about that. Dwarves are in cahoots with the evil magisters.”

“Wow.” He hadn’t known that. He wondered if Fenris did.

“I believe in the Maker and Andraste. I don’t necessarily sing the Chant, and I definitely don’t go to the Chantry. I guess I’m kind of like you, that way. But, with Sebastian being all Chantry-happy, it’s hard to stomach a long conversation with him.”

“Wow.”

“That’s all you got? After that revelation? Guess Justice was the brains of the outfit, after all.”

“Like Bianca?”

“Hell, Blondie, I never denied it.”

“I do get what you’re saying, Varric. It’s only recently I saw him as something other than a Chantry tool. He’s actually been fairly decent about my losing my magic.”

“Losing your magic... that was a tragedy, if I ever heard one. I’ve been watching the way you’ve handled all this. And, damn. You’re just... carrying on. Still healing, learning to fight. I gotta hand it to you, Blondie. It’s impressive.”

Anders shrugged with a half-smile. “Thanks. It’s been hard, though. I can’t tell you how much Fenris has helped me.”

“You said he saved your life?”

“He killed the templar who branded me. He took me into his home. He even kept me from killing myself.”

“Shit. I didn’t realize.” 

“Yeah. Don’t think we didn’t fight, because we did, plenty. But, I know I’d never be doing half this well, if not for him.”

“I believe it... but, don’t discount your own part in that, Blondie. I’ve tried to help someone bent on self-destruction. They have to want to live. No matter what anyone did for you, your own mettle was the deciding factor. And, just maybe, the Maker played a part.”

Anders chuckled. “Sebastian’s pretty sure it’s _all_ the Maker.”

“Color me surprised,” Varric said.

Anders had much less trouble with Sebastian’s company than Varric did. If one knew how to get around the archer’s official Chantry public service message, he was pretty decent. His love of the Maker and Andraste was hones, and, Anders respected that. He also had an interesting combination of holy and hilarity in him. His past shone through at unexpected times, if one watched for it. A wry comment, or off-color joke would slip out, made all the funnier because it was unexpected. Then, Sebastian’s own horror at what he’d said was funnier, still. Anders, for the first time in a long time, was enjoying people without the added difficulty of his spirit passenger.

He most enjoyed his friendship with Fenris. Sharing meals, reading, practicing with the staff, late-night talks. Whether at the mansion, or in the tent on overnight missions, staying up to whisper with Fenris into the wee hours delighted him. It reminded him of one of his few happy memories from the Circle. Sneaking into Karl’s bunk, blanket pulled over their heads, speaking in nearly silent whispers, giggling madly into their hands. Later, when he and Karl became lovers, it was more often quiet, careful lovemaking, but that was something else, entirely.

Fenris shared so much more than he’d ever expected he would. And, he laughed. Anders had heard chuckles, occasionally. Had seen his half-smile, and sardonic twitch of lips. But, to see an open grin, hear the infectious baritone rumble of his laughter... it was delightful. He knew it was a rare occurrence, so he strove to make Fenris laugh, as often as possible.

The elf was an excellent listener. Attentive, thoughtful. Anders spoke to him of so many things, and Fenris absorbed it all. Whether a problem encountered in the clinic, or his growing certainty the Maker was behind recent changes in his life, or his tallying of Isabela’s bed-partners; Fenris was the perfect audience.

But, no matter how much they talked, he’d never expected Fenris to share so much, so openly, as when he’d described his relationship with Danarius. And, what Fenris had described, left Anders hurting for days. 

He didn’t know what he’d thought slavery meant. He’d imagined it something like being in the Circle, which was bad enough. He’d been so focused on the injustice of the Circles, he hadn’t given slavery much thought. To hear Fenris’ experience had shaken Anders, and added weight to what happened after the turn of the year. 

He was aware Fenris had made efforts toward contacting Varania; Anders had written the letter for him. He knew she was on her way to Kirkwall, he’d read her letter. On the fateful afternoon Fenris talked Hawke into going with him to the Hanged Man to meet her, Anders had been working in the clinic. He’d come home to find the elf staggering drunk. When questioned, Fenris mumbled and slurred about Danarius, and his sister. 

“You’re saying Danarius came with her?” At which point, Fenris had promptly passed out, leaving Anders to put him to bed, and fret himself to sleep.

The morning brought a very hungover elf to his bedside. Anders gave him a hangover potion, and pulled him under the blankets to share the events. The story was heartbreaking.

“Hawke actually joked about giving me back to Danarius,” Fenris said, head in his hands. “As though he thought it was funny. It wasn’t funny.”

“Of course it wasn’t. It was a stupid thing to do. But, even though Hawke has poor judgement, you know he’d never hand you over to Danarius.”

“And, Varania... she betrayed me. My own sister. She led him to me in exchange for power. To be a magister!”

“Don’t you have to be a mage, to be a magister?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there’s a bit of a surprise.”

Fenris sighed. “Yes. I never imagined that. I wanted to kill her. Hawke stopped me.”

“Good.”

“And, why is this good?”

“Because you have enough painful memories. Killing your sister doesn’t need to be one of them.”

Fenris sighed heavily, and curled in on himself under the blanket. “You’re probably right. _Venhedis._ You don’t know what it was like, seeing him coming down the stairs. Anders... it was... it....”

Anders rubbed his back. “It’s over. You killed him. He’s dead, and he’ll never hurt you, again, Fenris. Never again.”

Silent, he nodded.

Anders looked at him, huddled under the blankets. It was clear Danarius had scarred Fenris’ mind as much as his body. He was overjoyed that the bastard was dead, and at Fenris’ own hand.

Hawke’s careless joke, pretending he'd hand Fenris over to the magister, was yet another example of the man’s frivolity. When he thought of how unthinkingly Hawke had seduced Fenris, how little consideration he’d given him, Anders filled with anger. And, Hawke had the gall to belittle Fenris’ performance? How dare he? Hawke had clearly lacked any sensitivity as the elf’s lover, that night.

On the evening when Hawke had denigrated their brief affair, Anders had been shocked. He’d seen the fury and shame Fenris' face before he’d turned and disappeared into the forest. 

“Hawke, you are a complete and utter jackass!” he’d spat, before running after him.

For days after, any time they passed in the mansion, or sat together to eat, Anders wanted to pull Fenris into his arms and rock him. He wanted to keep him safe, whisper how wonderful he was. Wanted to stroke his hair and keep away the pain the memories brought.

He didn’t, of course. Fenris would have no tolerance for such sweetness, and coddling. But, Anders _did_ risk simple embraces, whenever he thought the elf would allow it. Which was surprisingly frequently. Fenris didn’t often initiate such contact, but he also didn’t rebuff Anders when he took him in his arms. 

“You hug a great deal,” he said from the depths of Anders’ embrace.

“Mm-hm. My parents were big huggers. Why do you think I’m good at wrestling? It’s just energetic hugging.”

“No one hugs as much as you. Not even the witch, and she’s forever hugging on somebody.”

“You want me to stop? We could wrestle, instead.”

“No. I’m fine with this.”

“You’re just piqued I won our only match.”

“As I recall, it ended with my fist in your chest. I’d call that my win.”

“If you didn’t do your lyrium trick, I’d still win.”

“Bet a sovereign?”

“You’re on.”

One sovereign lighter, Fenris scowled up at him. “Teach me.”

Anders tossed his winning into the air, catching it again. “Wrestling? As a rule, elves aren’t built for it. Too light, poor leverage.”

“Teach me, anyway. I’m taller than most elves, with denser muscles. I can learn.”

Anders grinned. “OK. We’ll add wrestling to our staff practice.”

One wrestling attempt later, and Anders was jumping about, arms flailing, covered in grey dust and bits of dried skin and entrails. “Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew!”

“It’s a corpse, Anders. You’ve met many. You’ve been covered by worse.” Fenris was doing a poor job of restraining his laughter. He had managed to launch Anders off of him, and directly into one of the desiccated corpses. It had exploded with a huge puff of corpse-dust.

“Oh, bad. So bad. I fell in it, Fenris! Oh, Maker, the dust is in my mouth, and up my nose. Argh... oh, it’s nasty....” Charging up the stairs, he made for the bathroom, and began dumping buckets full of water over himself, fully clothed. He heard Fenris follow, chuckling. 

“Grow a pair, pansy. It’s a dried-up husk.”

“It’s disgusting, elf. It’s one thing to get covered in guck on the job, but really Fenris? In your own home? I’m not leaving those things lying around our practice area, any longer.” He peeled off his clothes, stalking out to his room for dry ones. “Where’s some sacks, or tarps, or something? We’ll throw them in the cellar.”

“Look around. The rooms are full of crates.”

“You’re looking with me. They’re your stupid corpses.”

While hunting through the many unused rooms, Anders pulled aside a heavy curtain. Behind it was a set of Orlesian doors. Behind those was a large balcony.

“Check this out,” he said in wonder. “I had no idea this was here.”

Fenris joined him. “Nor did I.” After a few experimental prods and stomps, the balcony proved stable, and they walked across it. It was located on the side of the mansion which abutted the overlook to Lowtown. The view wasn’t pretty, but it was expansive. The drop from the balcony was a good 75 feet, onto the highest level of Lowtown’s streets. 

“Wow. This is great,” Anders said. 

“It is.”

It faced south, the setting sun casting oblique light over the two men. A light ocean breeze reached them, fresher than any they’d smell in either Lowtown or Hightown.

“This is my new favorite spot. I’m bringing a mattress out here.”

“You’re sharing that mattress, then. Listen... you can hear the buoy-bells from the harbor.”

Anders cocked his head. He could. The chatter from Lowtown was a pleasant murmur. 

“Am I forgiven for my watch-corpses?”

“No. I found this, myself. And, you’re still helping me clean them up.” He threw a disgusted look at the elf. Wearing his half-grin, Fenris stood in the glow of the setting sun. Looking at his relaxed, happy face, Anders was overtaken by bittersweet emotion, and pulled Fenris into his arms. 

“Healer....”

“That’s new,” he spoke into the white mop of hair.

“You are no longer a mage. I need something to call you, when your name is insufficient.”

“Fine by me.”

“What is driving this need for affection, lately?”

Anders sighed. He'd known Fenris would question him, sooner or later. “Sometimes, I look at you, and I just hurt for what you've gone through. I want to protect you... make you feel better. I can’t help it.” He waited for the elf to push him away, and storm off in irritation.

It didn’t happen. In fact, Fenris tightened his own hold, in return. “Thank you.”

“That’s it? You’re not annoyed?”

“Because you care? No. I don’t need protection, but I’m gratified you wish to offer it.”

“I do care, Fenris. More than you know.”

“I think I may know.”

Anders pulled away, smiling at the elf in his arms. “Help me clear the dead from our front hall, then we’ll furnish this balcony.”

“Agreed.”

The dead now resting peacefully in the farthest corner of the cellar, the men made the balcony comfortable. It had a high ceiling that extended beyond it by several feet. In warm seasons, it would protect the floor from the worst of the elements, though it would be unusable during the few wet months. It was long, extending the length of the room to which it was attached. They were able to put not just a mattress, but Anders’ entire bed, frame and all, on one end. The other end received a small table and several chairs. Carrying bedding out, Fenris asked, “Did you bring this with you?” He held up a small, richly embroidered pillow.

“I did. My mother made it.”

“And, you’ve kept it all this time?”

“Yep. It’s all I was allowed to take when the templars took me away.” He took the pillow, running his hand over the stitches. “I remember Mutti working on this. I can see her face, clear as yesterday.”

“Did you never see them, again?”

“No. We weren’t allowed contact. I missed them, so much. My first escapes were to try and go back home.”

“Why not the later ones, as well?”

“I grew older, and realized I’d just scare them, showing up on their doorstep. And, the templars would only look for me there.”

“What were they like?”

“My parents?”

“Yes. It sounds like you had a good relationship. Like Hawke and his mother.”

Anders grinned. “We did. I was an only child. They wanted more, but Vati was born and raised in the Anderfels. It’s so blight-ridden some people have trouble producing children.”

Fenris gestured to the chairs, and they both sat. “What are you calling them?”

“Mutti and Vati... it’s Ander for Mom and Dad. Mutti was actually Fereldan. Her father was a Grey Warden, and she and her mother moved to the Anderfels to be near him when he transferred to Weisshaupt. Technically, they’re supposed to leave their old life behind, but many stay in touch with spouses and children. Her father died, though, and Mutti’s mother wanted to return to her homeland.

“They came to Ferelden with several other families, including Vati’s, before my father reached manhood. They all set-up homesteads near a tiny village on the eastern foothills of the Frostbacks. Not too far from Orzammar, actually. It’s pretty isolated, but Vati said it was crowded compared to the Anderfels. We raised the usual; cows, horses, chickens, crops.”

“When did you go to the Circle?”

“I was twelve. I was a little old for magic manifestation. I had a wonderful life before then. I won’t go on about it. It’s not fair, when you don’t remember yours.”

“Tell me. I’d like to see a joyful childhood through your eyes.”

Anders smiled at the elf. “You’re a good friend, you know?”

Fenris smirked, and pulled a small cask of ale from the box of linens he’d carried out.

“Make that, a great friend,” Anders amended. “I ran free. From the time I could run, I was doing just that. There were lots of kids on neighboring farms, and in the village. We formed packs, like wild dogs, and ran amuck. We all had chores, of course, but once they were done, it was off to the fields, or the streams, or up the trees. Our fathers taught us to hunt and fish. Some taught their sons the weapons they used, like mine.” He took a long swallow from the cup Fenris handed him.

“Did you find as much trouble then, as you do now?”

Anders laughed. “Not nearly. Vati was lenient until I stepped out of line. I had a lot of leeway. We sang the Chant daily; and on holidays, we gathered in the village for a community service. I’ve never heard it sung so beautifully as we did in my village. The Chantry doesn’t do it justice. No pun intended.

“Mutti, especially, had a beautiful voice. She sang while she worked. Or, she sat with Vati, and sewed as they talked. She had a great sense of humor, always joking and laughing. Vati was more subdued. He was kind of like you, now I think about it. They doted on me. I was loved, and taught all I would need to grow into manhood. I just assumed I’d have a family of my own, children running amuck as I did, teaching them the things Mutti and Vati taught me. I wanted nothing more in life than to live in that little, isolated village, with my family and friends, and farm the land with my father. Then, the templars came.”

“You wanted to be a farmer?”

“Well, now I prefer healing, of course. But, I liked working with animals. I had a good hand at it. And, the vegetable garden. I never cared for working in the fields. To much repetition in plowing and sowing.”

“You refer to them in the past-tense. Are they dead?”

“I have no idea.”

“Why don’t you find out?”

“To what end?” 

“Anders, perhaps it hasn’t occurred to you, but you’re no longer a mage. You could go home to see your parents, if you chose.”

Anders felt the air leave his lungs in a rush. It hadn’t occurred to him. Since the time of his first escapes, he’d known, he could never go home. His family would fear him, templars would hunt him. 

But, not anymore.

“Anders?”

“Fenris....”

“Have I upset you?”

“Yes... in a good way. I could go home. If they’re still there. The Blight, and all... who knows if they survived, or still live in the same village?” His mind spun with the possibility. What if he could go home? What if...?

“Find out, Anders. Find out if they’re alive. Find out if they’re still there.”

He nodded mutely, dazed, his head too full to think. A pair of hands hooked under his arms, pulled him to his feet, and enfolded him into an embrace. He drew Fenris to him, and held on tight.

“You sure hug a lot, elf,” he said with rough voice.

“I have a friend; he likes to hug. Guess it rubbed off.”

“Sounds like a good friend.”

“Mm. The best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to WoTv2, Anders had a pretty sweet childhood.


	11. Friendship and Beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric helps Anders in his quest.
> 
> Anders and Fenris take their friendship in a new direction.

It was well into the wee hours before Fenris left Anders to crawl into his balcony bed. He wondered if suggesting he look for his parents was wise. Anders was completely overwhelmed by the possibility. Yet, how much disappointment could he take, if he was unable to find them? After losing his magic and the demon, Fenris feared it might unhinge him.

Undressing and getting into his own bed, he ran the day through his mind. Like most of his days, now, it had been a good day. Talking with Anders, wrestling with Anders, laughing with Anders... the exploding corpse had been the funniest thing Fenris had seen in years. He chuckled again, remembering it.

Then, discovering the balcony. It was an adventure just watching Anders find it. He made everything fun. Fun, such as Fenris was not accustomed to having. The healer was full of wonder, easy to please, ready to laugh. He was also very affectionate. At least, since that awful trip to Sundermount. Now, he knew why. And, he was touched. There was a time he’d have bristled at such familiar contact. But, with Anders, he actually enjoyed it. 

He felt himself stir. This was happening more since the trip to Sundermount, as well. The events, and the conversation, had not been arousing in the least. But, later, they’d led to new thoughts; arousing thoughts.

Fenris wasn’t a complete stranger to sexual pleasure. He wasn’t familiar with it during the act of sex, it was true. But, it hadn’t taken long after he’d left Danarius before he’d begun taking himself in hand, and bringing himself to climax. He didn’t indulge often. It was difficult to find thoughts that sustained him, without drifting into his past, and that pretty much put an end to it.

Hawke had been a frequent visitor to his mind during solo excursions of the past several years. Until recently, his only visitor. Now, someone closer to him had slipped into his mind, regardless of whether or not he necessarily intended it.

Anders was his friend, his very good friend, and using his image as masturbatory fodder seemed wrong. Yet, even when Fenris started without him in mind, he would always seem to finish with the image of the smiling face, or warm embrace, of Anders in his mind.

He closed his eyes, and let himself explore the images drifting through his mind. It was useless to try to avoid it. He remembered Anders’ description of what he’d have done differently, in Hawke’s place. Kissing, he said... he’d have spent time just kissing. As Fenris’ hand stroked his flesh, he imagined what it would be like to kiss Anders. His friend... the one he trusted... the one who cared for him... kissing his smiling mouth... feeling those expressive lips against his... long, slow kisses... teaching Fenris how it was done, how to kiss him in return....

His body trembled as he continued stroking his rigid shaft, the heat curling in his belly. He imagined Anders’ breath coming faster as the kiss continued, cupping Fenris’ cheeks to hold him still for his ministrations. His warm breath... his gentle hands... his honey-brown eyes clouding with desire....

His hips snapped up, his fist tightened, and he came. Moaning with pleasure, he milked the aftershocks, his seed hot on his belly and hand. His breath slowed as he lay in languorous bliss. 

Touching himself to Anders’ image made his night with Hawke seem like a tepid handshake.

“Wrap your legs around my waist... use your shoulders as a fulcrum... good, now toss me over... _ungh!”_

The healer was unceremoniously thrown onto his back in the corpseless entry of the mansion. “My match,” Fenris declared. He loosed his legs and let Anders collapse.

“Excellent, Fenris. Damn, you’re catching on better than I’d expected.”

The elf glowed with the praise. “You’re a fine instructor, as with reading and writing.”

“Well, you certainly caught on to those, quickly enough. You’re just a fast learner.”

A voice from the entryway interrupted. “If this little mutual admiration party is done, I have some news to share.” Varric strolled in, taking in the pair panting on the floor. “You’ve done something with the place... ah, yes. Your housemates have gone.”

“Thank the Maker,” Anders replied with a cutting glance at the elf.

Rising off the floor, the pair led Varric upstairs and out to the balcony. Handing around mugs of ale, Fenris settled into his usual place. Varric stood at the railing, taking in the view. “I tell you, I’d buy this rotting hulk just for the balcony.”

“Anders owns the balcony,” Fenris pointed out. “He just allows me use of it.”

“What’s the news? Job with Hawke?”

“Nah. I got word from my contacts near Orzammar. They’ll start hunting up your folks in a week or so... well, they probably already have. They’ll get back to me with whatever they find.”

Fenris watched as he took in the news. Anders looked about the same as he had when Fenris had pointed-out he could try to find them.

Varric continued. “So... if they’re there, then what? You gonna head off to Ferelden for a family reunion?”

Anders shrugged. “I don’t know. Right now, I just want to know if they’re alive. A lot can happen in twenty-plus years.”

“Play it slow, Blondie. That’s my advice. Family can be tricky business.”

With a half-grin, Anders said, “More so for a dwarf in the Merchant’s Guild, I would think. Ferelden farmers aren’s as prone to intrigue.”

“All families have pitfalls and snares,” Varric said. “We dwarves are just more honest about ours. Ask Broody about family.”

“On second thought, don’t,” Fenris frowned. “What I know of family fits in a thimble.”

“Mutti and Vati aren’t like Varania or Bartrand. No matter how much time has gone by, I know they’re still who they were.”

Varric shook his head. “It doesn’t take blatant betrayal for family to hurt you, Blondie.”

Anders nodded. “I can’t argue with that.”

Once Varric headed out, Fenris looked at Anders. He was lost in thought. “What will you do, if your parents are found?”

“My imagination wants to see the family reunion that Varric mentioned. I don’t know how I would be received, in truth.”

“So... you would leave Kirkwall.”

Anders moved to the railing, looking over the city without seeing it. “That’s complicated. I have a life here... more or less. The clinic. Helping the... people. Things that would be hard to just up and leave.”

“Helping the... what?” When no answer was forthcoming, he stood and moved beside Anders. “You’re still with the mage underground.”

“In a way.”

Fenris felt his body chill through.

“What way?”

“I told you I’d find another way to help. I’m no longer leading escapes. I’m not even assisting escapes.”

“What, then?”

“For someone who doesn’t want to hear about it, you ask a lot of questions.” Anders looked at the elf, then, and sighed. “I’m a courier.”

“That’s dangerous, Anders, and you know it.”

“It’s always dangerous. Being a mage was dangerous. Living in the Gallows is dangerous. I’m just trying to give them some small measure of hope, a connection to their families.”

With a heavy sigh, Fenris understood. He, himself, had sought his family at great risk. Anders was searching for his family, now. He didn’t like him being involved with the underground; but, he understood why he was doing it.

“Just be careful. I could not bear to lose you.” 

Anders turned to him, “Nor I, you.”

His golden hair glittered in the sun, the wind ruffling it around his serious face. He was beautiful, Fenris thought. Simply beautiful. A face that had come to mean acceptance, understanding... ardor. The face that filled his mind when he found pleasure.

Without thinking, he put a hand behind Anders’ neck and pulled him into a kiss. He felt him startle in surprise, and Fenris nearly backed away. But, then, arms went around him, and the lips under his moved... and Anders was kissing him. 

_Anders was kissing him._ Like he’d imagined so many times, yet, so much better. Those lips, so quick to smile, so fluid in expression, were pressed to his. They moved slowly, gently, warmly. This was entirely unlike the kiss he’d shared with Hawke. This wasn’t confusing. His markings didn’t flare with alarm. This felt... right. 

_“...Fenris....”_

_“Anders....”_

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” Anders’ voice was breathless, hopeful.

“Yes. I’ve imagined this.”

“Oh, Maker... so have I....” Anders’ kiss consumed him. Fenris felt a soft moan make its way from deep within his chest, from the heart that beat fast, strong, exultant. He let his lips move along with the healer’s, mimicking his movements, the press and release, the little nips, the slow slide. He hoped his actions had the same effect on Anders, as they did on him, because he was feeling this kiss clear down to his toes.

When Anders moaned against his mouth, warmth pooled in the elf’s belly. His limbs were loose, his breath short. 

“Fenris... you’re incredible....” 

The only response he could summon was another groan, louder, as his mouth learned this dance they shared. Anders pulled him closer, a hand cupping his head, an arm about the small of his back. More groaning in response, punctuated by gasps. Fenris lost the ability to speak. Kissing Anders had stolen his voice.

Then, Anders’ tongue was in his mouth. _Fasta vass,_ his tongue was curling into his mouth, hot, sinuous, like nothing he’d ever known. The taste of him, the heat. He let his own tongue glide along Anders’, wind about it, explore the cavern of his mouth.

Anders’ moan made the heat in his belly curl ever tighter. Then, his mouth left his, and traveled along his jawline, nipping, kissing, down his neck. Those lips, those lips... they latched onto the sensitive skin under his ear, and sucked.

“Anders... this is... this is....” better than anything he ever could have dreamed. Better than anything he’d ever felt. 

He groaned, again, when those lips released his skin. Anders pressed gentle kisses to his cheek, his temple, his hair. Warm hands stroked his back soothingly. 

“Let’s slow down a minute... it’s so easy to get lost in you.” 

“Uh-huh.” He took several deep breaths, leaning his forehead against Anders’. His body felt like it was vibrating. His belly was filled with warmth and coiling desire. 

“What do you want, Fenris?” Anders’ voice was husky, low, soft.

“I want... this.... to kiss you.”

“Is that all?”

“I want much more. But, right now, I want to kiss you.”

Leading him to the bed, Anders pulled Fenris to sit beside him. “I want you to do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. You’re not a child, I’m not going to coddle you, or tell you what you need. But, I know your past... oh, you beautiful elf. This is a little unusual, but I want you to choose a watch-word.”

“A what?”

“A word that you can say, anytime you feel uncomfortable, for any reason, that will tell me to stop.”

“Why?”

“They’re usually used in more exotic sex-play. But, I want you to have a way to tell me, immediately, if anything is going too fast, or too far, or any reason in the whole world you need to stop. I don’t care what we’re doing.”

“Why do I need a special word?”

“Because, given your history, I worry ‘no’ or ‘stop’ might not be something that’s easy for you to say. Alright?”

“Alright.” He couldn’t imagine Anders ever doing anything that would make Fenris want to stop, but he was touched by the sentiment.

“Pick a word. Something you’ll remember easily, that wouldn’t normally be said in a bedroom situation.”

Fenris thought carefully. “Freedom.” Anders smiled.

“Perfect. You say ‘freedom’, and everything comes to a stand-still. Understand?”

“I understand. Now, will you kiss me, again?”

“With pleasure.”

It was even better, this time. Fenris knew what to do. When Anders pulled him into his arms, and covered his mouth with his own, Fenris melted against him. He ran his fingers into the burnished gold hair, reveling in the softness of it. 

Fenris explored his mouth, neck, throat, ears. He let his lips travel over Anders’ face, kissing each familiar feature with adoration. When Anders did the same, he nearly forgot how to breathe.

Each caress of the healer’s hands, each touch of his lips and tongue, was more intense. As comfortable as Fenris had been, before, he truly relaxed into the pleasure, now. It was the watch-word. It was unbelievably liberating to know that things wouldn’t speed out of control, and startle him with sudden change.

He pulled Anders down with him to lie back on the bed, a pleased sigh escaping him. This was the greatest physical pleasure he’d ever experienced, the most security he’d ever felt. The arms about him were enfolding, safe. He had nothing to fear, but expiring from the pleasure Anders gave him.

The soft sounds of lips meeting, parting, meeting again. The small sighs and moans of the man in his arms. The feel of soft hair threaded between his fingers, warm breath against his cheek. 

“Fenris....” his name spoken with the breathy, soft voice of the man pressed so tightly against him.

“Anders....” the name of the man who had single-handedly turned his world upside down since the elf had brought him to his home.

Anders left off kissing him, and buried his face in the elf’s shoulder. He was held tightly, the trembling of the man in his arms clearly felt. He returned the embrace, stroking his shoulders and back.

“Fenris... you have no idea what you do to me.” 

“I know exactly what you do to me,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the warm neck in which his face was buried.

He heard the soft chuckle in reply, felt it rumble against his chest. When Anders moved away slightly, and gazed into the elf’s face, he was radiant. His golden-brown eyes shone, his lips slightly swollen from their kiss, softly smiling. 

“I never saw this coming,” Anders confessed. 

“Nor I.” Fenris traced the healer’s features with a gentle finger. “They say the Maker moves in mysterious ways.”

Anders captured the elf’s finger and pressed a kiss to it. “He does. I have felt His presence in my life, recently, in a way I never have.” 

“Mm.” Fenris couldn’t say for sure that it was the Maker. In the past few years, Sebastian had stirred his interest in the idea of a benevolent god. He wanted to believe. And, forces truly seemed at play, lately, that were beyond mere coincidence. “Anders... I know how you feel about the Chantry....”

“Yes?”

“I know you have been thinking of the Maker, lately. So have I. But, I know so little. Would you go to the Chantry with me?” Somehow, this request seemed more intimate than the kissing they had just enjoyed. 

“Of course, I will.”

“You would not be uncomfortable?”

“I might be. I don’t know. Let’s ask Sebastian when he’s leading the Chant.”

“He does that?”

“So he’s said. I know he’ll suggest we go when Elthina is presiding, but I can’t reconcile with her attitude toward the Circle.”

Fenris was a bit surprised Anders was willing to go to the Chantry, at all, when he despised so much about it. He knew he was only going for his sake. This was definitely what friendship was about. 

Could they still be friends, like before, after doing what they just had? It was only kissing, but... no, there was no ‘only’ about their kissing.

“Are we still friends?”

“ _What??”_ Anders sat up, and looked at him with concern.

“If we are... this way... I don’t know how this works, Anders.”

“You gave me a heart attack.” Indeed, he looked it. “I meant it when I said you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I wouldn’t want anything to hurt that. If you decide you don’t want to be involved in this way, I hope... oh, I hope so much... you would still want to be my friend.”

Fenris looked at him carefully. Such open appeal. Such honesty. Such friendship.

“Can we have both?”

Anders’ grin was brilliant, and warmed him through. “Yes, we can. In fact, it’s better that way.”

“Then, why have we stopped kissing?”

“An excellent question....”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep breath... _sigh...._ <3


	12. Seeing God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders has a profound experience.

The archer’s face couldn’t have been more astounded.

“You wish to come to services?”

Anders had to chuckle. “We do. It’s not that surprising, is it? We’ve discussed faith, several times. You’ve been guiding Fenris toward this for years.”

Sebastian’s expression melted into one of delight. “I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising. I’m so pleased to hear this.”

“Don’t get too excited. I still bear no love for the Chantry, nor Elthina.” He saw Sebastian bridle at that. “Calm down, Brother Sebastian. Our opinions need not enter into this. But, I'd prefer to go to a service you’re leading.”

“Oh, aye, that would be wonderful. I lead a service in the afternoon, teaching the basics of Chant history; then we chant the more beloved verses. You are well learned, but Fenris might find value in that service.”

“Sounds perfect.”

And, it was. Sitting in a back pew, listening as Sebastian’s familiar brogue taught the story of Andraste in a simple, compelling manner, Anders was taken back to his childhood. He heard his parents’ voices as they told him the same stories. He glanced at Fenris, beside him. He was engrossed in Sebastian’s sermon, listening intently. Anders ran a hand down his back, heart warming as Fenris leaned into him, attention on the sermon. Anders turned his attention back to Sebastian, as well.

 _“World-making Glory,” I cried out in sorrow,_  
_“How shall your children apology make?_  
_We have forgotten, in ignorance stumbling,_  
_Only a Light in this darken’d time breaks._  
_Call to Your children, teach us Your greatness._  
_What has been forgotten has not yet been lost.”_

 _“Long was his silence, ‘fore it was broken._  
_‘For you, song-weaver, once more I will try._  
_To My children venture, carrying wisdom,_  
_If they but listen, I shall return’.”_

Anders was certain the verse was chosen for its value in teaching of Andraste first meeting the Maker. Yet, it it seemed to speak of his own life. He had been lost. His own father had turned from him. He hoped to find him again... hoped to return to his parents’ welcome.

As Sebastian announced the verse they would sing, his eyes found Anders; Prayers For the Despairing.

He joined in the Chant. It was not done in the lyrical melody with which he’d been raised, but with the chanting style he’d learned in the Circle. Even so, it moved him. Moved him in a way he hadn’t expected, sitting in a Chantry. The words flowed into his soul, and filled those jagged holes he yet carried within him. 

_“In the long hours of the night_  
_When hope has abandoned me,_  
_I will see the stars and know Your Light remains._

 _“I have heard the sound,_  
_A song in the stillness,_  
_The echo of Your voice....”_

His voice caught, stumbling over emotion. He remembered waking in the night after Sebastian had first prayed for him, Fenris’ voice speaking from the stillness. Throat thick, he continued the Chant.

_“Who knows me as You do?_  
_You have been there since before my_  
_first breath._  
_You have seen me when no other would recognize my face._  
_You composed the cadence of my heart--”_

A sob broke from him. He didn’t know where this emotion was stemming from. It was a verse he’d recited countless times in his life. Why was he feeling this way? His voice choked in his throat. 

Unbearable sorrow filled him, and, at the same time, unbearable joy. He wept, no longer able to chant. And, then... all confusion fled. He saw it all, felt it all, so clearly. The sorrow of his losses; as a child, as an adult, as a mortal who floundered on his path. He felt the Maker’s presence; felt it like sunshine in his soul. He saw His hand in his life clearly, and knew he was His child... had always been His child. He continued weeping; tears of sorrow, tears of elation, tears of cleansing.

Arms encircled him, and he knew Fenris held him. Oh... Fenris. Anders knew the Maker had brought them together, knew it as surely as the sun rose and set each day. Had blessed them both with a friendship like no other, a shared joy unexpected by either. Had sent the elf to help guide him along the misty path before him... to perhaps be guided by him, in return. 

Deep within, the ragged edges of his soul were smoothed. His world, which had tilted on the edge of an abyss, at last straightened.

He clung to Fenris as he quietly wept tears of redemption and faith, tears of hope and joy. In time, a gentle hand lit upon his head, as Sebastian’s voice spoke a prayer of gratitude.

He lifted his head, meeting the gaze of the elf in his arms. Fenris looked concerned and confused. The Chantry sanctuary was now empty. He turned to Sebastian, on one knee before them, eyes bright with unshed tears and understanding.

“Thank you.”

Sebastian stood, smiling. “'Twasn’t my doing, Anders. This was between the Maker and yourself. I’d like to call on you, later, if you're agreeable.” Anders nodded, and he moved away, straightening the sanctuary. 

“Are you alright?” Fenris searched his face for clues. Anders cupped his cheek, gazing into the brilliant green eyes. 

“I’m perfect." He kissed the elf’s lips, and it felt like a communion. “How are you?”

“A bit confused. What happened?”

“Everything fell into place.” He chuckled to himself. His world was standing upright, again. He’d rediscovered his place in it. Everything was clear. 

“You’re happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“You look... different. Good. But, different.”

“I feel different. Good. But, different.” He smiled at the elf’s smirk. “What did you think of the service?”

“I’m not sure. I like the idea of those in misery and despair receiving the promise of comfort. It’s hard to believe, though. In my experience, good doesn’t come after bad. Bad always comes after good. Good things are taken away.”

“I know what you mean, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Do you think you want to come to more services?”

He watched Fenris consider his answer. Anders’ heart filled with a pleasant ache. Fenris was so open, so honest, so giving. He knew most people wouldn’t see those qualities in him. But, Anders knew they were there, saw them in play, every day. He leaned forward to place another kiss on his lips.

“Yes, I do wish to attend more. I wish to learn.” Anders grinned, pulling him to stand.

“Let’s say goodbye to Sebastian, and head home.”

Home, to their balcony. Home, to a bed that held them in soft comfort as they watched the pageantry of sunset. Home, to warm arms and warm kisses, and the warmth of finding joy in both. 

A calling voice stopped them before things heated too much.

“In here, Sebastian,” Fenris called. He found cups and poured ale and wine. Anders grinned at the astonishment on the Sebastian’s face as he walked onto the balcony.

“Maker’s breath. This is extraordinary,” he exclaimed. He took the proffered wine as he stood at the railing. “This is truly lovely.”

“We like it,” Anders said. 

“Such a display of beauty to come home to after an afternoon such as yours, is it not, Anders?”

“It is.” He took the ale Fenris handed him, and pulled the elf into his side, gazing at him. “As is he.” Fenris’ eyes widened as he blushed vibrant red from his neck to the tips of his ears.

Sebastian laughed heartily. “I see the Maker’s gifts are abundant in this household.”

“So is His twisted sense of humor,” Fenris grumbled half-heartedly. He leaned into Anders, filling him with sweetness.

“Anders... you had an awakening of sorts during the service.” All three men sat at the table.

“I did. I felt...” he was stopped by a suddenly thick throat. 

Sebastian nodded. “It’s often hard to discuss, afterward. So many emotions, so many details that are impossible to describe.”

He nodded.

Fenris spoke. “I don’t understand what happened. Anders only said that everything fell into place.”

Sebastian leaned back. “Sometimes, when the Maker’s presence is felt--truly felt--it has a great impact, as you might imagine. It can be hard to understand, let alone explain to another.”

“But, what was it?”

Anders’ throat cleared enough to speak. “It was faith. And, understanding.”

“I thought you already had faith and understood the Chant.”

Anders frowned, and looked to Sebastian for help.

“It’s the difference between seeing a pie, and smelling a pie... and, then... tasting the pie,” Sebastian said.

“You could not have chosen a better metaphor,” Anders chuckled. “I was raised on the Chant, I’ve always revered the Maker. But, today... I felt His presence, Fenris. I can see His work in my life.” 

Fenris listened, brows furrowed. Anders could see the cogs turning in his head. Always wanting to understand, this brilliant elf. Always thirsty for knowledge. “I think I understand. But, what does it mean? Has Anders changed, in some way?”

“He already had, that he was able to have such an awakening,” Sebastian explained. “You have witnessed the changes in him, since bringing him to your home. There may be more yet to come. It’s difficult to find such faith, and not be changed by it, in some way.”

“I feel like I’m flying,” Anders said.

“You will, for a while,” Sebastian said. “It’s about this feeling, I wished to speak with you. The euphoria may last a few days. When it ebbs, some fear that the Maker has gone with it. That’s not true. You can’t live a lifetime in this kind of euphoria, it has to fade, eventually.” 

Anders saw Fenris still focused intently on what was said. “I’m still me, Fenris... it’s not like with Justice. It’s just....”

“... everything fell into place.” He looked at him, quirking his half-smile. “I’m glad for you, Anders, that you feel this. It seems to be a good thing.”

Anders pulled him into an ungainly hug across the table, as Sebastian’s laughter sounded in the evening air. The Brother’s voice was light as he spoke, “Aye, I think it’s a good thing, as well.”

After Sebastian had bade them farewell, they sat in peaceful quiet. The night was growing dark, stars speckling the sky as the sunset’s colors faded. His heart and soul still afloat, Anders watched the elf. Fenris looked lost in thought, idly swirling the last of the wine in his cup. 

“Copper for your thoughts?” he asked, softly.

Fenris’ lips curled at the corners. “You.”

“Me? Haven’t I stolen enough of the day?”

“No. Steal some more.”

Smiling, Anders stood, taking the elf’s hand, and led him to the bed. Kissing Fenris was like a drug, and he was hopelessly addicted. Lying with him, feeling his warmth and breath, was the sweetest feeling he’d ever known. It was all the sweeter, knowing their friendship was a gift from the Maker.

Kissing Fenris before had been mind-bending. Now... it truly felt like a benediction. He couldn’t get enough of him. He savored every kiss, every breath, every touch. Incredibly soft lips moved across his own. A velvety tongue explored his mouth. Strong hands curled about his shoulders and back, holding him securely. 

When Fenris shifted onto his back, pulling him over him, Anders groaned at the feeling of the body under his, warm and strong. Fenris was shorter than he, and slighter of build, but his strength was undeniable. Holding him made Anders want to both protect him, and be protected by him. 

His hands slid down Fenris' body as they continued their kiss. Along his shoulders, down his ribs, over his hips, along his thighs. Fenris’ lips paused briefly as Anders caressed along his arse, then resumed the kiss where he’d left off. As the elf pulled him more snugly against him... Anders’ mouth opened in a heavy, startled groan. 

Fenris’ pelvis pressed up against his, sending intense stimulation through Anders’ hard, wanting erection. He gasped, pushing himself away from the elf.

“Fenris... too much....” he moaned.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Maker, no, the opposite,” he breathed deeply, calming his suddenly very agitated libido.

“Let me give you pleasure,” came a throaty offer. Anders fought for self-control.

“No... not... not yet. Maybe we should call it a night.”

“I haven’t used the watch-word, Anders.”

“I need to be sure, for myself, as well.” He looked into the green eyes searching his face. Understanding, followed by a nod, followed by a kiss.

“Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Fenris.”

Watching him disappear into the house, to find his own bed, Anders wasn’t sure if he was incredibly chivalrous, or incredibly stupid. Fenris hadn’t used the watch-word. Yet, still, he wasn’t ready to let the elf please him; not like that. He closed his eyes and lay back, groaning. He wanted Fenris, he wouldn’t deny it. But, he would keep this slow for as long as he could bear it. And, tonight, between both his spiritual and physical rapture, he was nearly overwhelmed with sensation. 

He reached into the bedside drawer, retrieving a small flask of oil. One negative effect of harboring an obsessive-compulsive spirit had been the disapproving overtone that flooded his thoughts when attempting to imbibe in self-gratification. Justice didn’t see the need to expend energy in frivolous pursuit. Anders’ indulgence had slowed to a crawl while they’d been joined. It had taken supreme effort to override Justice when he’d explored a relationship with Hawke. Of course, it had been a waste of energy and emotion, just as Justice predicted.

Since losing the spirit, and working through the worst of his grief, he'd enjoyed a lucrative resurgence of lust. Lucrative only for himself, but he wasn’t complaining. Especially since he and Fenris began exploring one another in a less-than platonic way. Pouring oil into his palm, Anders closed his eyes, reached into his trousers, and took himself in hand.

Oh... so good. He was already so close. Kissing the elf was the most erotic activity he’d ever enjoyed. And, he’d had his share of erotic activities. But... Fenris.... he groaned as the elf’s image filled his mind. So beautiful. So sensual. His kiss, his touch... hearing him moan as they kissed... Anders gasped as his shaft throbbed in his hand.

He’d felt the elf’s erection when he’d pressed against him. Oh, how he wanted to explore it, stroke it, taste it... to see Fenris come undone as he brought him to completion. He stroked faster... Fenris’ beautiful face, mouth ajar as he cried out in pleasure, body tightening as he--

 _“Nnngghhhhhh...!_ F-f-fenris...! Oh, Maker....” panting, twitching, he stroked through the aftershocks, hand, belly, and trousers covered in his issue. 

What that elf did to him.

He lay in the peace that descended over him. Then, realized he really should have removed his pants. Struggling to his feet, he made his way to the loo to clean up. As he passed the elf’s closed door, he paused. He’d heard a sound... it was moaning. Was Fenris--? A tell-tale cry sounded... Anders’ own name... as the elf climaxed. 

Anders smiled as he quietly moved past the door and down to the bathroom. He knew they were of like minds. But, the sound of his name in the elf’s finishing cry... he decided to take a clean cloth back to bed with him. He was going to need it.

The following morning, both men were sleepy as they prepared breakfast together. Anders still felt the elation of the day before, but it did little to buoy him in his physical fatigue. 

Yawning, first one, then the other, in the mysterious way of yawns, they got themselves fed and down to the entry. The tiles shone in the morning light. Now the corpses had been ousted, their hired help had tidied the rest of the room. There were still broken tiles, but the floor was sparkling, as well as cobwebs cleared and artwork straightened.

Fenris led them through the usual exercises before sparring. His count was slow, and both men dragged. Finally, Anders leaned on his staff. 

“I underwent a spiritual and emotional upheaval that left me exhausted. What’s your excuse?”

The elf shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How many times did you bring yourself off, last night?” He snorted at the surprised look on Fenris’ face. The elf sighed, finally.

“Three.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Their eyes met, and both snickered. “Let’s watch the sun rise, healer.”

“The sun already rose.”

“And, will continue to do so, before it crests and starts back down.”

“Good thinking.”

Leaning back in their chairs, feet propped on the railing, they watched the city below come to life.

“Hey, look, there’s Varric,” Anders pointed out. Trudging from the tavern with Bianca on his back, the dwarf made his way toward the Hightown stairs.

Fenris glanced about him, mischief in his eyes. He picked-up a loose chunk of tile, and let it fly. Shattering on the pavement at the dwarf’s feet, it startled Varric into whipping his crossbow off of his back. Looking up at the buildings above him, he saw the two men laughing and waving. Taking aim, he sent a bolt into the railing at their feet. Both fell to the side as Varric gave them a two-fingered salute, shouldered Bianca, and carried on his way.

“He almost hit us!” Anders exclaimed.

“There’s no almost with Varric. He hits exactly where he aims.”

“Good throw, though, elf.”

“Thank you.”

They took up their chairs, leaned back, and continued watching the city below. 

When mid-afternoon rolled around, they left their leisurely pursuit, and walked to the Chantry for Sebastian’s service. When it was time for the Chant of Light, Anders again joined in, feeling the words as they sounded throughout the sanctuary. 

As the service concluded, Anders pulled the elf close, kissing his temple. “I like watching you listen to the sermon. You light up when you learn something new.”

Fenris quirked his half-smile; lighting-up, even more. 

They bid farewell to Sebastian, and made their way to the Hanged Man.

As soon as they came through the tavern door an apple flew across the tavern at their heads. Fenris snatched it out of the air with ease. Polishing it on his breastplate, he took a bite, and they found seats at the table.

Varric was laughing. “Been waiting all day, hoping you’d come through the door.”

Anders took the proffered fruit from the elf and enjoyed a large bite. “If you shoot another bolt into one of the buildings below ours, we can rig-up a cable and slide down to Lowtown.”

“You’ll go first,” Fenris suggested, taking back his apple.

“No, you’re braver than I am.”

“The Maker may be favoring you, lately, but, I’m not sure He’d save me from an act of such profound stupidity.”

“Oh, He’d save you. Even the Maker couldn't resist so gorgeous a man." He tilted the elf’s chin for a kiss. Fenris accepted the kiss as his due, and took another bite of apple.

“OK, someone please explain what’s happening with these two,” Varric exclaimed.

“What’s happening with you and the crossbow?” Fenris replied. Anders laughed, then choked on his bite of apple.

“It's called love. Pure, devoted love. Whatta _you_ got?”

Exchanging glances with the elf, Anders replied. “We’re not sure. But, it’s fun finding out.” Fenris snorted.

Varric chuckled. “Seen Hawke lately?”

“No. Why?”

“Turns out he’s got a cousin. Gamlen’s daughter.”

“Gamlen’s got a daughter?”

“Yeah. That was pretty much Gamlen’s response, too.”

“That’s great, really. Hawke lost his family. Maybe he can rebuild with this cousin,” Anders said.

“Aren’t you generous,” Fenris observed.

“I’m still in the throes of religious rapture, remember?”

“Regardless. It’s a kind sentiment.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m curious what she will think of the witch?”

“There’s an interesting dinner party,” Varric mused. “You two up for a game? Looks like it’s just us, this evening.

“Absolutely. What’s in the stew, tonight?”

“It’s a mystery, isn’t it?” Varric answered. “Life is like the Hanged Man’s stew; you never know what you’re gonna get.”

Anders caught the elf’s eyes, and both smirked. Truer words were never spoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders was ripe for a rebirth, of sorts. He'd undergone the trauma of losing his magic and Justice, he'd begun to search out his family, he and Fenris began an intimate relationship. That's a lot of emotional and spiritual energy going on inside him.
> 
> Yes, I shamelessly stole from Forrest Gump. Sorry 'bout that. I couldn't resist. ;-)


	13. Better to Worse to Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting out of hand between templars and mages.
> 
> Anders gets word about his family.

After a couple weeks of attending Sebastian’s afternoon service, Fenris was proudly reciting portions of the Chant with the rest of the attendees. He had always done well with regimented activities, and he discovered religion seemed to have its share of it. Anders agreed, but with less enthusiasm. He still had no love for the Chantry, but was dedicated in attending with Fenris. He simply preferred more organically flowing chaos than structure. He’d had enough structure while in the Circle.

“Look, the Maker is part of the world, part of nature,” he said. “And, nature is not orderly. It’s chaotic. By association, so is the Maker. I don’t think the Maker is order and repetition. Nor Andraste. She was a loose cannon, if ever there was one.”

“The Maker cannot be a part of nature. He created nature.” Fenris countered.

“Men build cities, and live in them, so are part of them. One cannot create, and not be part of the creation.”

“I just don’t believe the Maker is chaotic.”

“Well, you have to admit, He’s a bit erratic. He kinda changes His mind, a lot.”

Discussing the Chant with Anders was like discussing anything else with him: unexpected. His unusual ideas were stimulating and challenging.

Many things about Anders were stimulating and challenging. He continued to progress with his quarter-staff. Their sparring matches were more of an effort, now. Wrestling was a different story, altogether. Fenris did well enough, but the moment one pinned the other, the elf wrapped himself about the man, kissing him senseless. It hardly made losing a hardship, when it meant Anders would be pressed against him, panting with effort.

“You could at least try to win, you know,” Anders muttered between kisses.

“As far as I’m concerned, I won.”

“Smooth talker. Come on, I’m hungry.”

Fenris sighed. He’d tried to gently encourage Anders into further exploration of their amorous side, but he seemed to sidestep his efforts. Certainly he appreciated the consideration, but he was ready to discover more. About himself, and about Anders. Then, he thought how long it had taken them to get to this point, and patience would take hold, again. He was learning to trust all things would happen, in their due time.

He still didn’t entirely understand what had happened to Anders in the Chantry, that day. Sebastian called it an awakening. Anders said he’d felt renewed faith, and understanding. Whatever it had been, Anders had been lit from within, despite the tears he’d shed.

Fenris wasn’t familiar with tears. He’d never shed them. Emotions were a detriment to slaves. Certainly, he knew people cried, though the only other time he’d seen Anders weep was when he’d tried to take his own life. So, Fenris had been startled to find himself with an armful of sobbing healer during the Chant. Clearly, whatever happened had been powerful.

He watched for any changes in him, afterward. Despite reassurances by both Anders and Sebastian, Fenris couldn’t help but be concerned. Yet, all he’d noticed was a calm, a sense of acceptance. Anders seemed happy; even seemed less aggrieved by his loss of magic. That much, at least, was for the better.

Under Anders’ attention, Fenris was eating a larger variety of food, with minimal argument from his gut. He’d had no idea how many tastes and textures were available. He wasn’t much for cooking, though he was happy to chop or dice whatever he was handed.

“I’m going out for a while, tonight,” Anders said as they prepared supper. “I may be late.”

“Where are you going?”

“Just some people I need to talk with.”

Fenris stopped slicing vegetables. “This is the mage underground, isn’t it?” His insides churned. Anders had said he was only delivering messages.

“Not exactly.”

“You’re keeping things from me. You said you were a courier.”

“I am a courier. But, this is different.”

“Tell me.” He didn’t want to hear it, but he couldn’t stand not to.

“Templars, believe it or not. They’re concerned with the way the Circle is being run. They’re ready to take some action. They just want to talk about plans.”

“How do you know they aren’t going to take you in?”

“They’re not going to take me in any more than they’d take you in. I’m no mage. They have no cause.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Why?”

“To keep you safe.” Whether or not Anders approved, Fenris was going.

“Fine. If you really want to.”

It was a fiasco. It was supposed to be a group of mages meeting with a like-minded group of templars. It ended in a losing battle, with Hawke showing up unexpectedly, and turning the tables. A note led to Darktown, and information leading to the Wounded Coast. Arriving, Hawke nearly came undone when he saw Merrill had been taken hostage.

Of course, blood magic came into it. Good people died. Many bad people died, as well. Anders was distraught. Overnighting it on the Coast, Fenris had comforted Anders as he railed in anger and disbelief. He’d had such hope in the templars’ involvement, to make internal changes in the way the Circle was run. Finally, praying fervently while Fenris held him, Anders found some level of peace, and a few hours sleep.

When they’d returned home the next day, it was late afternoon. After both bathed and changed into nightclothes, they found their way to the balcony. A warm evening breeze greeted them, seeming to blow away the troubles of the past day. Anders took a few deep, cleansing breaths.

“I fear for the future of the Kirkwall mages. Things are getting out of hand. Even templars are frightened. More mages are turning to blood magic. More innocent mages are being made Tranquil. Would you have ever expected a scenario such as we witnessed, last night?”

“No. I would not.”

“The Grand Cleric refuses to take Meredith in hand. Orsino is powerless. Neither the templars nor mages are united. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

“What would you do?”

“I wish I had a plan to offer that would be looked at realistically. I say, close the whole thing down, at least for a while. Transfer the mages to their choice of Circles. Send Meredith for serious evaluation, and a position far from any Circle. Make Orsino a lesser-ranked enchanter, elsewhere. As it stands, nothing short of cataclysm will shake their fool heads into order. I’m afraid that might be what happens, in the end.”

They sat awhile in the cooling evening, watching as both city lights and stars blinked on.

“You fought very well,” Fenris said.

“Thank you. You did, as always.”

“You keep me in top form, all the training we do.”

“If getting my ass kicked by your handsome self helps, I’m happy to oblige.”

“It’s an ass worthy of kicking.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

When Anders was ready to turn-in, Fenris claimed a long, sweet kiss from him, and made his way to his room.

The battle had been terrifying. Not for himself, but in his fear for Anders. So many times, Anders was in trouble, struggling with his new weapon. Blood magic abounded; abominations and demons. All Fenris had cared, once it was over, was Anders was alive and well. He could have been one of those mages, had his luck run differently. He could have transformed into a true abomination, had Justice become too lost in the anger of their combined soul. He shuddered at the thought.

He flipped off the blankets, and made his way back to the balcony. Anders lay with eyes closed. Fenris stood, looking at him. He felt a deep ache in his chest, taking in his beauty.

Anders’ eyes slowly blinked open. “Fenris?”

He didn’t know how to reply. He didn’t need to. Anders lifted the blankets with one hand, an invitation to join him. Fenris slid between the covers.

Anders didn’t hesitate. He took the elf in his arms, and kissed him with fervor, hands smoothing along the planes of his body. Fenris gasped into their kiss, his body alive with the heat of Anders’ touch. The material of their sleep clothes was light, soft, sliding along their skin with silken caress. The heat of the healer’s skin radiated through the cloth, warming him where they touched.

And, touch, they did. The barrier of thin, soft, fabric was erotic, rather than frustrating. Touching, but not quite. He could feel the exact shape, heat, and weight of Anders’ hands as he stroked him, yet not the hands, themselves. Fingers, moving lightly down his spine, drew shivers. Hands, palming his arse, brought warmth to settle and grow in his groin.

Anders’ mouth feasted at his neck, sucking, biting. Fenris was held transfixed by the sensation, gasps drawn through his open mouth. The gasps turned to whines as Anders' leg nudged between his thighs. Pressure, friction, just enough to make him tremble.

Gentle arms turned him to his back, and the delightful friction was gone.

“Fenris... do you remember your watch-word?” Anders’ voice was low, rasping.

“Freedom,” he croaked.

“I want to touch you....”

“What should I do?”

“Enjoy it.”

Anders’ hot, wet mouth claimed his, once more. His tongue dipped inside, searching. His cry was effectively muffled when a hand stroked firmly against his erection. He arched with the electric jolt shooting through him. The soft material slid against his aching length, damp with the pooling fluid at its tip. He cried out as he was stroked again.

Tearing himself from the kiss, his voice carried in the night air. “Please... more....”

A trembling hand was at his waistband. Fingers slipped underneath, stroking the sensitive skin of his belly. Fenris shuddered. His aching, swollen cock was eased from the confines of his pants. Then, for the first time in his life, a hand other than his own pleasured him.

Back arching, lungs pulling long, desperate breaths, he felt pleasure. Such pleasure. This... this... was astounding. Anders’ grip was tight, slick with the juices streaming from him. Stroking slowly, root to tip, keeping the pace when his hips bucked of their own accord, driving deeper into the blessed grip of the healer.

Anders lowered his head, stubbled cheek pressed against the elf’s own, his breath hot against his pointed ear. “So good...” he whispered, “I’ll make you feel so good.” Fenris couldn’t reply. His voice was not his own, making unexpectedly loud moans as pleasure was pulled unrelentingly from his flesh.

He could hardly think, he was so overwhelmed with sensation. He heard his voice make desperate wordless pleas. It was agony. He was close, so close. Anders' hand continued to stroke him, tight and slick. He felt the pressure building in his groin, his balls pulled tight to his body.

“Anders... Anders... I....”

Lips brushed his ear. “Come, Fenris.”

With a shout, hot seed pulsed from him, and he was pulled to a shuddering, twitching end.

When he’d finally caught his breath, he opened his eyes to find Anders was sucking the juices from his fingers with a rapturous expression. Once finished, he smiled at Fenris, pulling him close for a kiss. He felt as though he was in a trance. He couldn’t take his eyes off Anders; this man, his friend, who had just given him such unimaginable pleasure.

Anders’ voice was in his ear, as fingers stroked into his hair. “You’re beautiful, Fenris. And, delicious. The sounds you make are like a symphony.”

He tried to find his voice. After a few false starts, he did. “Nothing has ever felt like that.”

Anders pressed kisses to the elf’s cheeks and forehead. “Nor, for me. Bringing you to your peak... I can’t describe how good it was. How good it still is. How much it affected me.”

“I want to pleasure you,” he murmured. Anders smiled softly, and shook his head.

“Not just now. I want to keep this feeling of you, for a while.” He pulled him close, cradling his head to his chest, wrapping his arms about the pliant elf. Fenris felt as though he were drifting on a cloud, delighted to be held and stroked as he was. “Stay with me, the night?”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, nodding. He felt Anders’ heartbeat under his cheek, his warm body against his. Blinking sleepily, he gazed at the horizon of stars above the city lights. He found Anders’ favorite verse in his memory: “I will see the stars and know Your Light remains.”

He felt a kiss pressed into his hair, and Anders’ voice responded; “I have heard the sound, a song in the stillness, the echo of Your voice....”

They slept, wrapped in one another’s warmth.

They were startled from sleep the next morning.

They looked at each other with confusion. What had awakened them?

Pounding sounded from their front door. Ah. Anders stole a quick kiss as he climbed over the elf and out of bed. Fenris got up and headed to the bathroom.

Coming out, he found Anders and Varric in the entry. Anders was reading a message. The elf and dwarf exchanged nods.

“They’re alive. My parents are alive. Both of them. They’re still living in Ratspitz Village. Sweet Maker.”

Varric’s eyebrows shot up. “Rat Spit Village? Seriously?”

“It’s pronounced raht-spitz. It means ‘barbed counsel’, or something like that.” He turned to the elf. “They’re alive.”

Fenris felt the joy radiating from him. “What do you plan to do?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to plan before I knew. Varric, thank you,” he grabbed the dwarf in a crushing embrace.

“Hey, hey, now. You’ll make Bianca jealous. I’m glad the news is to your liking. I’m gonna head out, and leave you to your planning. See you at the Hanged Man, tonight?”

When Varric shut the door behind him, Anders walked slowly to the stairs, and sat heavily. “They’re alive.”

Fenris lowered himself beside him. He was pleased for Anders, happy he had an answer to one of his questions about his past. “Will you write to them?”

Anders shook his head. “No. If I decide to contact them, I don’t want to be rejected in a letter. I would want to at least look at them, before they send me away.”

“There’s no if’s about it, Anders. You know you’ll go to them.” It hurt to say it. Because, Anders leaving to find his parents, meant Anders leaving Fenris. It hurt to even think it.

He watched him frown at the letter. “There’s... complications. Things to consider.”

“The mage underground? You’d let that keep you from your family?”

“No. Not that.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to leave you, Fenris. You’re important to me. So important.”

“Don’t give up your dream of family for some surly, escaped slave, Anders.” He had to go. He had to see his family. He couldn’t stay for... him.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me. To Ferelden. Get on a boat, and sail away with me. Meet my parents. Or... console me when they refuse to see me. Either way.”

“You want me to come with you? You want to introduce me to your family?” He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

“Of course, I do. Well, I mean... perhaps I’m presuming too much. Kirkwall’s your home. Maybe you don’t wish to leave for such a long journey, with such an uncertain outcome.”

“Kirkwall is Varric’s home. It’s just the place where I stopped running.”

“Then, will you come with me?” Anders’ face was filled with hopeful joy.

Fenris’ insides went warm and soft. “Nothing would please me more.”

Anders pulled the elf tightly to him. Fenris could feel him tremble, could hear it in his voice. “Oh, Maker. I want this. I want this, so much.”

Fenris held him in return. “Then, make it happen, Anders. It’s yours for the taking.”

“I can’t believe you’re coming with me.”

“I’m your guide on this path, remember? I have to be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They kinda like each other. ;-)
> 
> I chose the name Ratspitz from a comment Anders makes in-game about templars hunting mages: "They search your rat spit village...."


	14. Intimate Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris demands his fair share.
> 
> The men make plans to travel.
> 
> The gang gives the couple a going away party.

It had been several days since Anders learned his parents were alive, and still living in Ratspitz Village. He had to chuckle when he thought of Varric saying the same name Anders and his boyhood chums had called the village: Rat Spit. Either name was of fairly ominous portent. Yet, the village itself had been heaven-on-Thedas, as far as Anders had been concerned. He wondered if it still was.

He was going home. He still spun inside when he thought the words. Home. He prayed it would be a true homecoming. He remembered when he’d left. His mother had wept, not wanting him to go. She’d wanted to try to hide his magic, keep him from the Circle. But, when he’d accidentally set the barn on fire, his father had become frightened. The templars had been summoned. 

Now, he was no longer a mage. There was nothing for his parents to fear in their son. If they believed him, when he told them he’d lost his magic. In his heart, he hoped they would trust their own son. But, if he’d learned anything about the public opinion of magic, it was mages were feared. And, according to the Circles, not to be trusted.

He dropped his gaze to the man in his arms. Warmth filled him, as always, when he looked at him. Dozing on Anders’ chest, Fenris looked serene, peaceful. He stroked a finger along his brow. 

This new aspect to their friendship had been unexpected, yet entirely welcome. Anders would never have acted on the attraction he’d begun to feel. Fenris had been hurt by one friend, already. Anders wouldn’t risk doing the same. He’d never expected Fenris to return his feelings. When he’d unexpectedly kissed him on the balcony, he’d been frozen in surprise. Then, filled with delight. Anders’ heart skipped, thinking about it. 

He’d come to learn Fenris, normally so calm and stoic in public, was passionate and unrestrained in private. The first time Anders had touched him, and brought him to climax, had been the most erotic moment of his life. Fenris had clung to him, so desperate, so wanting; the sounds he made, the expressions passing so openly over his beautiful face; Anders felt himself begin to rise, just remembering.

And, since then... Andraste preserve him. He was greedy, this elf. The most frequent words to cross his lips in bed were “yes” and “more.” He initiated intimacy at all times of the day and night, eager to explore pleasure never before known to him. And, Anders was greedy in return. So much was new to Fenris, it was a delight to see him learn his body’s responses. The first time Anders took his cock in his mouth, Fenris’ entire body had shuddered. No one had tasted him this way, before, and he was honored to be the first. 

He fended off most of the elf’s attempts to pleasure him in return; he was damned if he would allow him serve him, as he’d been compelled to in the past. When Anders was unable to deter him, he guided him to simply using his hand; and that alone nearly overwhelmed him. Fenris had skills, exceptional skills, and Anders hated to think where he’d gotten them. He knew full well he’d been trained to perform regardless of his own feelings. And, Fenris wanted to touch him, was impatient to do so. Which was why Anders hadn’t yet pursued full nudity between them. The more clothing, the less likely things would go farther than he felt was prudent. He didn’t know how much longer his resolve would last. He’d never exercised so much restraint, in his life. 

As his finger traced along the elf’s cheek, green eyes blinked open, and captured him in their gaze. Anders smiled.

“Good morning.”

Fenris gave a short chuckle, eying the overhead sun through the skylight. “Barely. Have you been awake long?”

“No.” He rolled over to fully embrace the elf. He buried his nose in the crook of his shoulder. “You smell so good.” Fenris smelled amazing. Even when unbathed, he never had the sharp, heavy scent associated with sweating or unwashed bodies. Perhaps it was an elf-thing, but Fenris always smelled of sea air, or hot sands; slightly salty, clean. Delicious.

Strong arms slid around the healer. “You are perhaps a bit biased.”

“Nope. You smell good. Taste good. Feel good.”

“You get to do all the touching and tasting. You rarely let me explore you, in return.”

“I know. I worry about... things.”

“You worry I will be bothered by something you do. Or something I do. What bothers me is you will not let me please you.” And proceeded to kiss him, thoroughly. 

Anders responded as always when Fenris kissed him. He sank into the sensation, and lost all thought other than the elf in his arms. He felt his sleep clothes carefully being removed. “Fenris....”

“I wish to see you.”

“There’s nothing new since you supervised my baths, and nursed my wounds....”

“I didn’t get a good look, then....”

Within moments, not just Anders, but both of them, had been skillfully stripped bare, and lay with blankets tossed aside, gazing at one another.

It wasn’t as though they hadn’t seen each other in bits and pieces as they explored pleasure. But to see Fenris in all his beautiful glory.... He looked at the elf before him, and his mouth watered. He’d heard such cliches, before, yet it was literally happening, right now, in his mouth.

“Fenris... you’re exquisite.” And he was. He was about a handspan shorter than he, and slight of build, as elves are; yet Anders knew the strength he possessed. He was devoid of body hair, his dusky skin covered only by the white markings that swirled and wound gracefully about his form. They did not traverse his genitals, he’d been pleased to note; at least he’d been spared that much pain. He smiled when the elf’s cock twitched, as though stimulated by his very gaze.

Realizing he was ogling, he glanced back at Fenris’ face. A knowing smirk met his look. Anders wanted to reach out, to stroke the skin laid bare before him, then hesitated. “Do your markings hurt?”

“They used to. Not since Danarius’ death.” 

He reached out to touch him, but Fenris intercepted his hand.

“Anders. I want to touch you.” 

He sighed. Was it fair to refuse him? And, he truly wanted to feel his touch. “You remember your watch-word?”

“Of course. But, I will not be needing it.” Anders chuckled, and lay back for his inspection.

He watched as Fenris gazed hungrily at him; took note of where his eyes lingered, where they widened and narrowed. He wasn’t particularly vain about his appearance. His height was all that made him stand out; he was taller than most, and had trouble keeping weight on. Although, regular meals, plus training with staves, had put some muscle on his slender frame. 

Fenris looked utterly spellbound. From head to toe, those great, green eyes examined him. His expression was one of wonder, and it caused a fluttering of butterflies in the healer’s belly. Like Fenris, he felt his cock twitch and begin to swell when his gaze turned to his groin. He felt it almost as a physical touch.

Finally, Fenris reached out. Stroking into the hair on Anders’ head, he caressed the fine, fly-away strands. He traced the narrow face and strong jawline with his fingertips. Trailing down his neck and throat, he proceeded to run his hands over his entire body, head to toe.

Fenris seemed fascinated with the hair on his body. He ran his fingers into the sparse thatch scattered across his chest, and into the patches under his arms. He traced past the three parallel scars left by the abomination’s claws, and down to lazily comb through the trail of hair along his belly. Down further, until those exploring fingers combed and stroked through the reddish curls of his pubic hair.

Anders’ butterflies fluttered frantically. His half-hard cock thickened and rose. He gasped as he felt a warm, moist tongue draw along his growing shaft.

“Fenris...” half-warning, half-plea, he didn’t know if he wanted to the tell him to stop or beg him to continue.

He felt fingers caress his face, and opened his eyes. Fenris’ gaze was an open entreaty. “Anders, please let me pleasure you.” 

It was as close to begging as he could bear to hear. He succumbed to the pleasure he wished to give. “Do with me as you wish.” Fenris’ eyes glowed with delight. 

“What would you like me to do?” Of course... he’d never been allowed his own initiative.

“What would you like to do?” 

Fenris’ face took on a decidedly greedy expression. “To use my mouth on you. To taste you.”

Groaning at the thought, Anders nodded.

Nudging his legs apart, Fenris knelt between them. He ran his hands over and inside of the bracketing thighs. Leaning forward, he gave wet, sucking kisses to the sensitive skin just inside Anders’ hip bones. He closed his eyes, gasping. This was a major erogenous zone for him, and Fenris was exploiting it unmercifully. Both hips received the same treatment, leaving him shivering with sensation.

That torturous mouth moved down, nipping and licking at the crease between hip and thigh. Trailed down to the soft skin of his inner thigh, sucking, licking. Moving back and forth between each leg, Fenris drew sensations from his skin that he didn’t know were there. Anders hadn’t realized so much pleasure could be found in his thighs, alone. When Fenris licked his way to his sack, he moaned. With skilled care, his balls were sucked, nibbled and tugged. Each one, carefully drawn into the elf’s mouth, rolled and laved. Then, meeting his eyes with a look of hunger, Fenris slowly and deliberately sucked his cock deep into his throat.

Anders gave a strangled shout, hips lifting off of the bed. He fell back, helplessly moaning. “Fenris... oh, Maker....”

He felt Fenris moan, the vibration along his shaft making him shudder. Suction, such suction, tight and wet and hot. Fenris’ mouth slid up and down his shaft, bobbing as he took in all of his length. He paused at the tip, and swirled his tongue, running it under the sensitive foreskin, then retracting it with a gentle hand to scrape the head with careful teeth. Anders gave a choked cry. “Maker! Do it again... oh, do it again....”

Fenris chuckled around his mouthful, and did as requested. Over, and over, and over. More choked cries were torn from him as he was tortured with the elf’s tongue. Fenris used a hand to firmly grip and stroke the shaft, as his mouth concentrated on the sensitive head. It was unbearable. Anders’ head tossed on the pillow, nearly sobbing with pleasure. 

Fenris continued using his skill, unrelentingly, to bring him to his peak. With harsh pants, he felt himself draw close. A long, hoarse cry tore from his throat as his body spasmed. Pulsing, pulsing, hips arching, spilling his seed into the willing mouth. “Fenris... Fenris... Fenris.” He felt him take all he gave, and greedily swallow it down.

As his body sank back into the bed, Fenris moved up and burrowed into his side. Peeling his hands from the headboard, Anders clutched him, kissed him, swept his mouth, searching for the taste of himself, the taste of the impossible pleasure he’d been given. 

“Did I please you?” Fenris asked when Anders had released his lips. An exhausted chortle escaped him.

“Maker, yes. You nearly killed me.” 

Fenris made himself comfortable, sliding arms about him, and breathing a contented sigh. As Anders came down from his high, he wrapped his arms about him, and melted into the feel of him. He’d never touched so much of him at once. He was smooth, warm, supple. He was physical perfection, silken strength. How had Anders avoided this treasure of sensation for so long?

“I’ve been waiting long to please you, and taste you,” Fenris said, nuzzling into his chest. “I know what you meant, when you said giving me pleasure felt good to you.”

“Would you like me to--”

“No. I also want to enjoy this feeling of you.” Anders chuckled. But, he understood. It made him happy Fenris enjoyed him so much.

As they spent the following weeks exploring one another, Anders was surprised to discover Fenris was fairly submissive in bed. After years of being forced into true submission, Anders rather thought he might prefer to be in a position of control. After all, he was a domineering personality everywhere else. Yet, it was clear, Fenris did not dominate in the bedroom. He deferred to Anders’ desires, and often asked for direction or sought approval. 

He assumed part of Fenris’ preference was simply a matter of familiarity. Submission was all he knew. Pleasing his bed partner had once been a matter of life and death. So, when the elf began alluding to his desire to be penetrated, he wasn’t sure how to respond. Was Fenris asking because he truly wanted it, or was he performing as he felt he was expected? Danarius and Hawke had both taken Fenris with casual disregard. Anders was determined not to become third in line of those who had thoughtlessly used him.

He was pulled from light sleep one morning by Fenris rolling over and snuggling against him. He embraced him in return, and basked in the feeling of his silk-skinned, lithe body. He couldn’t get enough of him, naked in his arms. He couldn’t get enough of knowing he wanted to be naked in his arms. When Fenris yawned, stretching his body, and arching against him, Anders stroked his hands down his taut form. Such a feast for the senses.

“What are your plans, today?” Fenris asked sleepily.

“Stuff. Things.” He wasn’t in a rush to let go of him and greet the world.

“Very important plans, to be sure.”

Anders chuckled. “I need to go to the Gallows. Would you come with me?”

“Is this a mage underground thing?”

“No. This is almost the opposite of that.”

“What is it?”

“Knight Captain Cullen knew me in Ferelden. As a templar, he can sense a mage’s magic, and will be able to tell I have none. I want him to give me an official letter, attesting to the fact I’m no longer a mage.”

“If any templar can sense you’re not a mage, why do you need a letter?”

“For my parents. In case they doubt me when I tell them.”

“Ah. That’s... a very good idea.”

“Thank you.”

“Why do you want me there?”

“Because I don’t trust templars for nug shit. I’m only asking Cullen because he knows me from before. I haven’t forgotten he said mages aren’t like people.”

“Right.”

The Knight Captain was on post in the Gallows’ courtyard. He looked like hell. He hadn’t looked great for years, really, but now he was definitely a mess. Dark circles under his eyes, a permanent frown-line carved between his brows, face drawn. Anders figured he was about a decade older than the templar, but Cullen looked almost as old as he.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“Well, this is a bit awkward, but you do remember me from Kinloch Hold, don’t you?”

Cullen sighed. “Yes, Anders, I remember you. You’re not exactly easy to forget.”

“Oh. Well. I need a favor.”

“That’s bold, even for you. A known apostate, marching into the Gallows to ask the Knight Captain a favor.”

“Shows what you know.”

Fenris grumbled. “Don’t play games, Anders. Just tell the man what you want.”

“Fine. You know I was a mage, right?”

“Was? You mean to tell me this is no longer the case?”

“Exactly. Feel for yourself.”

With eyes narrowed, Cullen stepped closer. Then, closer. The frown-line deepened. Pulling off his gauntlet, he placed a hand over Anders’ chest. He frowned even more. “You have no magic.”

“Exactly.”

“Did you take a potion of some sort? Are you wearing an amulet? Something to suppress your magical energy?”

“Nope.” Despite his reply, Anders felt the slow roll of a magic cleanse move through him. Cullen continued looking carefully at him, sensing for any thread of power.

“Trust me, it gives me no pleasure to announce it, but I’ve lost my magic.”

“How?”

Casting a meaningful glance at Fenris, Anders turned, and lifted the hair off of his neck. He was thrown forward into the stone wall, and held there by the weight of the armored templar. Fenris’ markings flared, his blade out in an instant. When the weight lifted, Anders spun around to see the two warriors with weapons drawn, at an impasse.

“How did you come to have a Tranquil brand?” Cullen demanded.

“Half the mages in this Circle have the brand, or are you blind?”

“A templar would have administered that, and brought you here, afterward. That didn’t happen. So, I can only assume you killed that templar. One of _my men!”_

 _“Your men_ are brand-crazy, making any mage who sneezes Tranquil!”

Fenris spoke. “He was in the sewers, unconscious, with the brand on his neck. He has no memory of what occurred prior.” Anders was impressed. It wasn't a lie; it just wasn't the full truth.

Cullen relaxed his stance slightly. “You found him?” 

“I did.”

The Knight Captain looked at Anders curiously.

“Why aren’t you Tranquil?”

“You’re asking me? This is your specialty, isn’t it? Your men run about, willy-nilly, shoving brands up every other arse they find, and you don’t even know how it works?” He felt a hand at his back, calming him.

“Failed brandings occur on the rare occasion. Why they fail is never clear. Obviously you’ve received it, and obviously you’re not Tranquil. How long since this occurred?”

“A little more than six months.”

“No spurts of power? No accidental magic, as with children?” Anders realized Cullen was directing these questions to Fenris, and sighed, rolling his eyes.

“No,” Fenris replied.

“Has he spoken of changes in his dreams?”

“He complains they’re bland, and he can no longer control them.”

Cullen looked at him speculatively. Suddenly, Anders felt a blast of energy hit him, a mana drain, he’d guess, but it was hard to tell, without any mana to drain.

“Nice try. You can’t milk a bull.”

Cullen seemed to settle back in his usual tense relaxation. “Why did you come here? If you’re not a mage, you’re free of Circle interest.” 

“I want a letter of confirmation that I’m no longer a mage.” 

Cullen laughed darkly, and sheathed his blade. Fenris put his away, as well. “A what? Why? No templar would look twice at you, now. You have no magic, that much is clear.”

“To show my parents. So they won’t fear me, when I go to see them.”

Suddenly, Cullen’s entire bearing changed. His face took on a soft expression. “Yes. You would want to return to your family, I imagine.” He grew thoughtful. “You do appreciate the blessing you’ve received, to lose your magic?”

 _“Blessing??_ Are you--?” He was interrupted by a soft voice.

“Just get the letter, Anders.”

He sighed. If he started an argument with Cullen, he may not be in a mood to honor his request.

“Are you willing to write a letter? Validating you knew me as a mage in Ferelden, and you can verify I am no longer?”

Cullen nodded slowly. “I will. Come with me to my office....”

“Ah, no. I’m not setting foot in that Circle as long as I live.”

Fenris and Cullen both snorted. “Fine. Give me a moment. I’ll be right out.” 

“Do you know my name?”

“I do. I’ll reference both.”

He returned shortly with a rolled piece of parchment. Anders opened it, and was gratified to see Cullen had made it every bit as official a document as any other that would cross his desk. It bore the seal of the Kirkwall Circle, the stamp of approval of the office of the Knight Captain, and was signed with flourish. “Thank you.”

“It’s the most heartening piece of paperwork I’ve done in years.”

Anders looked around, then gestured Cullen into a more secluded area. “Look. I’m leaving the city, but I can’t leave without trying. You need to know... your Knight Commander is howling at the bloody moon. The Circle is on the brink of a complete catastrophe. Something has to change, and soon.”

Cullen’s expression was unfathomable. “What, exactly? If you have a solution, I’m happy to hear it. Keep in mind, Knight Commander Meredith makes the decisions. There’s only so much I can do.”

“When a Knight Commander goes around the bend, can’t their Captain relieve them of command?”

“They can, but there must be a quantity of proof. Meredith’s actions may seem harsh, but surely you’ve noticed the number of blood mages in Kirkwall?”

“They’re driven to it in desperation!”

“Mages don’t need to be desperate to turn to blood magic and demons. Uldred proved that. Count your blessings, Anders. You need no longer fear falling to either. I hope your homecoming is all you desire.” With a nod, the Knight Captain turned, and disappeared into the Circle.

Anders stood, staring at nothing. This Circle was doomed. He had been certain Cullen, of anyone, would see the danger approaching. He’d been through the disaster at Kinloch Hold. Yet, he seemed blind to the trouble brewing under his own boots.

“Count my blessings,” he muttered.

“Anders.”

“He’s a fool. He came into the Ferelden Circle a baby, all hopped up on Chantry pablum, certain he was doing the Maker’s work. Wonder if he still feels that way, now.”

“Who was Uldred?”

“Blood mage. He and his group took over the Circle for several weeks, shortly after I escaped the last time. I understand Cullen was the only captured templar to survive. He was sent away shortly after the Hero of Ferelden rescued him.”

Fenris paled. “He was trapped with blood mages? _Fasta vass._ Anders, do you have any idea what he probably went through?”

“I... hadn’t thought about it.”

“If he was sent away, he was probably traumatized enough to need to leave.”

Anders sighed. “You’re probably right. It doesn’t excuse his actions here, though.”

“What actions?”

“Well, inactions, I suppose. He’s second only to Meredith. He has to know what’s going on in the Circle... what Alrik was doing. He _has_ to see what his Commander is becoming. Yet... you heard him.”

“You tried, Anders.”

“Hard enough?”

“I believe so. You’ve tried for years. You’ve kept trying, even after losing your magic. You spoke your concerns to the Knight Captain, face-to-face. What more could you do?”

“I don’t know. Something. He defended that crazy bitch. What does someone have to do, put a bomb under their asses to make them see?”

“You can’t fix all the world’s ills. Rejoice in what you can do.” He motioned to the letter in his hand. “You have what you came for, a letter to show your parents. You can ease their hearts.”

Anders looked at the parchment. “True.”

“You’ve settled your work with the mage underground, correct?”

“Yes. My part has been passed on to another.”

“You’ve set-up Lirene and the brothel with a supply of treatments?”

“Yes.”

“Varric’s going to mind the mansion. He loves that balcony.”

“Yup.”

“Then, let’s go meet your parents.”

Meeting the parents would take a bit longer than the walk home. They had to purchase passage on a ship. They needed to clear out the clinic. And, they needed to survive the going away party at the Hanged Man.

Anders woke the morning after with a pounding headache. For the love of the Maker, why had they fallen asleep on the balcony when a hangover was a given? The morning light was burning his eyes from their sockets. He tried to get up, and tripped over the ropes criss-crossing the floor. Ropes? He staggered to his supply of potions, and found his hangover cure. Popping the top and downing a large swallow, he sighed. The headache and churning gut disappeared with a hefty belch. Damn, he was brilliant, sometimes.

He looked at the ropes strewn about the floor and furniture. A vague memory tickled his mind. He made his way to the bed with a bottle of potion for Fenris. The elf usually drank more than he, and was likely going to need relief just as badly.

He sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at him. Sprawled on his stomach with just his head showing above the blanket, he was adorable as ever. Anders gently stroked the snowy hair. Fenris stirred, then winced. 

“Please, tell me you have your potion in your hand.”

Chuckling, Anders slid the bottle into the elf’s hand. Without opening his eyes, Fenris downed it, belched loudly, and sighed with obvious relief. “You are such a good healer.” He looked about him. “Where did all this rope come from?”

“Search me. I’m sure there’s a good story behind it.”

A story that came to light as they were eating breakfast. Hawke, Varric, and Isabela crashed through their door, laughing and calling their names.

“Have you seen it?” Hawke shouted.

“The mess you made? Yes. What’s with all the rope?”

“No, not that,” Varric scoffed. “You don’t remember?”

“How drunk were you?” Isabela asked.

“Pretty drunk.”

Hawke grabbed both by the arms. “Come on. It’s our going away present for Anders.”

Dragged through the streets by a very excited mage, dwarf, and pirate, they were led into Lowtown. With great ceremony, they were turned to face toward the cliff face upon which their mansion sat, and the balcony overlooked.

On the wall, well below their balcony, yet well above the shops on the street, was a message. In stark white paint was written:

 _“If the Maker blamed magic for the_  
_magisters’ actions in the Black City,_  
_why would He still gift us with it?_  
_The oppression of mages stems_  
_from the fears of men,_  
_not the will of the Maker.”_

Anders felt utter glee rush through him. Those were his words, written in his manifesto, years ago. However many he’d sent to the Gallows, the Chantry, the Viscount, all were dismissed. Even Hawke tended to scoff at it. 

But, this. This was huge. This was public. This was impossible to ignore. Eventually, the Chantry or Gallows would send someone to clean it off. Regardless, before it could be removed, thousands of people would see it. Some would begin to think. Some would ask questions. 

“You did this? For me?”

Isabela leaned an elbow on Varric’s shoulder. “We absolutely did, sweet thing. It was a fun bit of work, too. Varric was stuck hanging upside-down for almost an hour.”

“That’s me. An authentic hanged man,” the dwarf proclaimed proudly. “And, that’s the paint they use on sea walls. It’s not coming off for anybody.”

“How did you not get caught doing this?” Fenris asked.

Isabela rolled her eyes. “Donnic was with us. You really don’t remember last night, do you?”

Hawke looked at Anders with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “You did more for mages in this damned shithole than any ten men. Figured this would be your legacy.”

“Hawke... thank you.”

“I know we didn’t necessarily see eye-to-eye, but I’ll miss you both. I’m a little envious you’re heading to my motherland, to be honest.”

“You know where it is.”

“Yes, but I’ve made a life here. And, without my family, it just wouldn’t be the same.”

“Hawke, connect with your cousin,” Anders said. “You need family.”

“I’ve been thinking that.”

Varric bridled. “Hey, what are we, chopped nug liver?”

Hawke laughed. “You’re the finest family a man could hope for... that smells like chopped nug liver.”

“Damn straight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has a good memory for names. ;-)
> 
> I just love the image of Varric hanging upside down as they create their drunken gift.
> 
> A common belief is that victims of sex abuse always become dominant in bed (ala 50 Shades of Grey). A surprising number prefer submission, particularly with a trusted partner. It's a way of rewriting the past abuse. With a respected safe-word, the submissive partner actually has more control of the situation than the dominant. So, that's where Fenris is at, apparently.


	15. Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang's thoughts as their friends begin their journey.

HAWK

Hawke gave a final slap to Anders’ back, and watched as the rest of the group said their goodbyes. He could hardly believe they were both leaving. It was true, they didn’t always see eye-to-eye, and he’d probably not been the best friend either one ever had, but they were part of the gang of misfits. Part of his family. 

But, Anders had another family. Most of the gang didn’t. All of them had lost their families, at some point; their common denominator was they were alone. Mostly alone. He had his tiny elf, Merrill, the sweetest creature on all of Thedas. Aveline had Donnic. Varric had Bianca. Sebastian had the Maker. Isabela had half the population of Kirkwall. Now, Anders and Fenris had each other. And, how weird was that? They’d hated each other. Frankly, Hawke had been waiting for either Fenris or Justice to take the other down, one of these days. For those two, of all people, to hook-up.... He shook his head.

Well, really, maybe it made sense. Who else would have them? Fenris was a broody, angry mess, and frankly, bad in bed. Anders had skill in the sack, but was an abomination, for Maker’s sake. That was part of the allure that got Hawke into bed with him. Who else could say they’d fucked an abomination? No one, that’s who. Not even Isabela. Of course, Anders had gone all mushy afterward. And, now, he’d lost his spirit, and lost his magic, which made him pretty much useless. 

He felt Merrill’s arm go around his waist, and smiled down at her. Ah, his tiny elf. She’d filled the hole in his heart. She understood what it was to lose your family, to be responsible for your loved ones’ deaths. He hadn’t protected Bethany in the Korcari Wilds. He’d led Carver to his death in the Deep Roads. He’d failed to find his mother in time. He’d never done enough, he’d never taken care of them the way he was supposed to. Now, he was alone, with a grief that just wouldn’t quit, no matter how he ran from it. Merrill gave him light, and joy, and warmth. Together, they’d take care of each other, through whatever means necessary. Just like his father had.

He always tried to give people what they wanted, tried to keep life fun. He didn’t understand why more people couldn’t appreciate that. Isabela did. Varric did. Fenris and Anders both blamed him for hurting their feelings, but it wasn’t his fault they were so damned serious. Still, they were part of the family. He was glad he'd thought of the manifesto thing. 

Well, they were leaving, now. Not that it would last. A sovereign said Fenris would be back before winter.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” he shouted.

SEBASTIAN

Sebastian stood with head bowed, facing both of his friends, as they prayed together. He was so very pleased for both of them. To have come through as much pain and strife as they both had, and to not only have survived, but lived well? To find a true and abiding friendship, with a physical intimacy that left both with glowing smiles? The Maker truly gazed upon them. 

The Maker always worked his miracles in surprising ways. Sebastian had been sure Fenris would accept the Maker into his heart, yet it had been Anders, instead. Anders, whom he’d barely known before he’d received the Tranquil brand. He’d enjoyed getting to know him, and would miss him as he sought out his family.

He’s miss Fenris, even more. He was truly a unique individual. And, if anyone needed to find the Maker’s love, it was he. Well, at least he was with Anders, who obviously cared greatly for him, and would aid him in finding his way. The Maker was not finished with them, and how Sebastian envied their future. They had a plan. He yet struggled with his own path in life. Perhaps, like Anders, he would be compelled by an event yet to come. He eagerly awaited it. 

“Maker watch over you,” he said.

VARRIC

Well, he was damned if he’d seen this coming. He’d lost a twenty-sovereign bet with Rivaini because of these two love-birds. She’d wagered Blondie and Broody would end up in the sack more than three years ago. He’d figured that was easy money, and accepted. Damn. Never could count on the heart to be predictable. 

He was sad to see them go. He liked them both. He’d gotten to know Blondie, really know him, after they’d gotten back from Chatteau Haine. It was a damn shame about his magic. Varric had known a few mages in his time, but none were as devoted to helping others as Blondie. That clinic of his... it had cost Varric a fortune to keep the gangs and templars clear of it, but it was worth every cent. As far as he was concerned, Blondie had done more for the poor and downtrodden of the city than the Chantry in all the years it had functioned in Kirkwall.

And, that elf... whatever they had managed to build together in that dark and decrepit mansion of his, Broody had seemed genuinely happy since doing so. Varric knew a dark past when he saw one. The elf didn’t talk a lot about his life, but it was clearly rotten. That Blondie had brought light into that darkness was nothing to discount. He was happy for both of them, and damned put-out they were traveling so far away. 

He was glad, too, though. He liked his friends to be happy and safe. They would manage both for each other. They might need it, more than they realized. Family was some tricky shit, and any plans involving them could slide sideways without warning. He was rooting for them. He really was. Blondie was the only one of the little gang to still have family. It would be nice if he could beat the odds, and have his reunion turn out good.

But, hell, they were headed into the nowhere. His contacts at Orzammar had relayed the village his folks were in was a flea-speck in the far-reaches of Ferelden; farms, cows and crickets. From what Varric had heard, most of Ferelden was like that. You’d have to drag him kicking to get him into that dog-worshipping country. 

He was having a hard time imagining the elf on a farm. Fenris milking a cow was almost as hard to imagine as Rivaini becoming a Chantry Sister. They would be pretty close to Orzammar. Maybe he should see about some sort of import-export business. If they decided farming wasn’t for them, but wanted to stay near Blondie’s folks, they could manage it, for him. He’d keep an ear to the wall, just in case.

“Don’t be strangers,” he said. “Stay in touch.”

ISABELA

Oh, to be setting out to sea, again! She was downright jealous of these boys. Of course, they were getting off the boat in Ferelden, and heading inland. That was no fun. Except for bedtime. She was sure that was great fun. Hawke had given her the details on his nights with each of the them. They always gave each other the details. That was one of the best things about Hawke.

What she also knew about Hawke, was he was not the man-about-town he thought he was. He was alright in bed, handsome, well hung, and enthusiastic were always nice. But, what he saw as failings on the part of Fenris, and mushy on the part of Anders, were really reflections on his own character. Anybody could see Fenris was inexperienced, and Anders wanted more than a tumble. So, for Hawke to be displeased with either of them, simply meant he didn’t know what he was doing, nor how to read a lover. 

If she was right about those two, and when it came to passion, she usually was; they were having back-arching, toe-curling, breath-stealing sex. That much angst and broody energy? Mmmmmmm. She’d love to be a fly on the wall of their berth.

Especially now, when Anders was minus that party-pooper spirit. He’d had quite a reputation when she’d met him at the Pearl, and he seemed to be getting back that sense of fun. She felt bad for him losing his magic. If she couldn’t sail anymore, she didn’t know what she’d do. 

She smiled when it was her turn to hug them goodbye. And, swooned just a little when that lanky elf whispered in her ear, 

“The correct color, is none at all.”

Oh, to be that fly!

DONNIC

Good for Fenris. This city wasn’t offering the elf anything worth staying for. In a mansion that wasn’t his, with a job that seldom gave work, he was stagnating. He was a good man, and deserved more in life than what he had. 

Donnic didn’t know Anders well, though he’d gotten to know him better after he’d moved in with Fenris. Even after losing his magic, he’d kept healing, and found a new weapon; that was admirable. And, his friendship seemed to make Fenris happy, so that was good. His wife wasn’t overly impressed with either of them. From a purely Guard Captain point-of-view, they were both headaches. Yet, true to Aveline’s hidden soft-hearted nature, she’d supported and protected them as much as she could. Well, she thought her soft side was hidden, but Donnic had spotted it a mile off. And, that courtship of hers... ah, his Aveline. 

He’d love to board a ship with his wife, and sail into a new world. Just the two of them, building a new life, perhaps a family. Of course, he’d have to push any babies they had out of his own ass, according to the love of his life. 

Fenris had found that terribly funny. Of course, he seemed to have the same attitude about children Aveline did. He’d miss that elf. He wished him well.

“Good luck,” he said.

AVELINE

Well, thank the Maker. Two huge headaches were dropping off of her Keep-An-Eye-On list. In fairness, Anders had dropped off of it about six months ago. Once he was no longer an apostate, he became just another refugee in the city. Except that he joined Fenris squatting in that stolen mansion in High Town. 

Which, actually, worked out pretty well. When he’d begun providing discreet healing services to the nobles, complaints about the occupants of the decrepit mansion had dropped, dramatically. Another case of “you keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.” 

She was impressed Anders had made a life for himself after losing his magic. Learned a weapon, continued healing, stopped sending his manifesto all over the city. Although Donnic vouched for the man, and swore Anders had nothing to do with it, a portion of that manifesto’s writings had appeared on a Lowtown wall, last night. She wasn’t really invested in chasing down the perpetrators, given they were probably standing right next to her. It was a small enough nuisance. And, it would probably piss-off Meredith, which was worth the memo she’d certainly be receiving when word got back to the Gallows.

She hoped Fenris and Anders found an honest life, and respectable positions in their new home.

“Stay out of trouble,” she cautioned.

MERRILL

Oh! How wonderful! It was such a beautiful story, what had happened with Fenris and Anders. Sad, too. And, happy. And, sad, again, because they were leaving.

She couldn’t imagine what losing her magic would be like. She didn’t know if she would survive it. How terrifying. How limiting. And, yet, how wonderful Fenris had taken care of Anders, and helped him to heal. She’d had no idea they were friends, they always seemed so angry with one another. But, she and the Keeper had been the same way, so she thought she understood.

She knew neither man liked her very much, and for such a silly reason. She didn’t judge Anders for being an abomination, so why would he judge her for using a magic he didn’t understand? There was no understanding shems, though, was there? Of course, Fenris wasn’t a shem, but he’d been a slave to them. He just couldn’t understand blood magic, itself, wasn’t what had made his master evil. 

Hawke understood. Oh, she loved her Hawke! He understood her, in so many ways. He was her family, now. She hoped they might have children, one day. Their own little clan. 

“Dareth shiral!” she said. “May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent.”


	16. Interesting Reading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men journey into their future together.
> 
> Isabela gave Fenris a very interesting going away present.

Fenris stood at the ship’s railing, easily rolling with the motion of the deck. He loved sea travel. Danarius had often gone abroad; as short a distance as Seheron, or as far away as Rivain. Fenris usually accompanied him. He was given free run of the ships, as there was nowhere he could go, and he wasn’t taught to swim. With the wind in his face, and the horizon before him, he’d felt free for those stolen moments of time.

This was the first ship he’d been on since he’d run from Danarius and crossed the Nocen Sea. This was a far different voyage. He was going of his own accord, to accompany his closest friend on a journey to a reunion. The weather was exceptional, their accommodations comfortable, and the company excellent. 

He turned to look at the company in question, and smiled. Anders reclined in a deck chair, shirt off, arms splayed over his head, soaking-in the sun. Fenris thought he was glorious. He knew what that body could do to him, knew how it felt and tasted. Anders had opened a world for him he’d not known existed. The things Anders knew to do, and the variety of pleasures they’d explored, left him dizzy.

He also knew Anders was skittish about Fenris’ past. He was touched, but it wasn’t necessary. It was the past. It was done and over. He wanted to focus on now. It had taken Fenris days to get the man naked, and return the pleasures he’d given him. It had been weeks since then, and Anders still wouldn’t penetrate him. It wasn’t that what they did was insufficient. Fenris simply wanted to share all he could, all he was. And, if what they did, so far, was this amazing; he couldn’t imagine how good full sex with Anders would be. 

He looked at his carefree, indolent sprawl. Anders was at ease in his body, like a cat lying in the sun. Fenris liked being able to see this much of him in the daylight, without his shirt. He, himself, wore only his sleeveless tunic and leggings. The ship was secure enough, and Anders had talked him into leaving his armor and blade in the cabin. He had to admit, it felt good to be unencumbered in the warm sun. 

It had been somewhat more bittersweet to leave Kirkwall than he’d expected. It was his first chosen residence, after all. He had friends, even if they weren’t so close as Anders. Sebastian, Donnic, Varric. He would miss the others, as well, but those three particularly. 

Fenris had been delighted with the farewell gesture their friends made for Anders. Putting the quote from his manifesto on the wall had been a stroke of brilliance. Fenris himself didn’t care for the manifesto, but was grateful for Anders’ sake. Traveling to Ferelden meant cutting himself off from his work with the mage underground. To see his words so prominently and indelibly written on the Lowtown wall had given the healer a sense of continuation of his work. He said he felt he could leave in good conscience.

He walked from the railing and sat in the deck chair next to him. He stroked a finger along the sun-kissed skin. “You’re getting freckles. I like them.”

Anders chuckled. “Spotty works for you, does it?”

“You work for me.”

“Good to know. Kiss me.” Fenris smirked, and did as bade. He loved kissing Anders; he wished they were alone so he could kiss more of him.

“How will your parents react to me?” he asked.

“I don’t even know how they’ll react to me.”

“They will surprised, confused, and then pleased.”

“Well, why have I been worried? You’ve got it all figured out.”

“Many in Kirkwall are prejudiced against elves. Are Fereldans the same?”

“Sadly, some are, but my parents were never that way. I don’t think anyone in the Village was. They’re mostly Ander, and in the Anderfels, a person is judged for his actions, rather than by what he is. Assuming they accept me, I’d speculate that my father will respect you, and my mother will think you need to be coddled.”

“Coddled?”

“You’re an escaped slave with no parents and no memory of your childhood. Expect lots of hugs and pastries. Oh... Mutti’s baking. Mutti’s cooking. Wait until you taste her apfelkuchen. Or, her fish stew.”

Fenris watched the wistful expression on Anders’ face. He traced more freckles with his finger, and sent a silent prayer to the Maker for a joyful reunion.

When the sun sank over the horizon, the chill air chased them into their cabin. 

It was well-appointed, though small. Anders rifled through his bags, looking for a warm shirt. “Have you seen my wool tunic?”

“It’s in my bag.”

“You took my shirt?”

“It’s warm. And, smells like you. And, all I have are shirts like this,” he plucked at the sleeveless tunic he wore.

Anders was grinning slyly. “It smells like me?”

“It does.”

“You like my smell?”

“I do.”

“You like me.”

“I believe that is well established.”

“I want one of your shirts, in exchange.”

“You could not get into one of my shirts.”

“I bet I can get into your pants....”

“You could not... oh. Well, yes. I believe that is also well-established.” He pulled out Anders’ wool tunic, and inhaling the warm scent, pulled it on. He then dug around until he found the book Isabela had given him as his going away present. It had a large drawing of a ship on the cover. She’d said since they were traveling by boat, he could learn to be a sailer, and there were lots of pictures. He hadn’t had a chance to look at it, yet.

Settling on the bed, he examined the cover. “Anders, do you know these words?”

“That’s the book Isabela gave you. Let’s see... ‘Jackstaffs and Limber-holes’. What the Void are those?”

“Something nautical, I imagine.” He flipped open the book, and his jaw dropped. There was nothing remotely nautical about it. Each page depicted a detailed drawing of people engaged in a different sex act. 

“Andraste’s flaming knickers!” Anders stopped looking for a shirt, and climbed on the bed next to Fenris. “Go back to the beginning, I missed some.”

With the book open across their laps, the men carefully perused the drawings. Fenris was fascinated. Nude bodies, in general, were nothing new. But, the variety of positions and combinations in the book was astounding. The drawings were of both men and women, same-sex couplings, mixed-gender, different races, different numbers of participants. He realized the drawings, although explicit, were not crude. He appreciated the artistry.

“Wow,” Anders said. “This is quality stuff. And, inventive. I’ve never even heard of some of these, let alone done them.”

Fenris turned to page fifty-three, and both men exclaimed in dismay. “No, that’s not possible, is it?” Fenris asked.

Anders was turning his head to look from different angles. “I’m sure not trying it.”

Once they had gone all the way through the book, they turned back and started again. 

“Are Qunari really shaped like that?” Anders asked.

“I have never seen a nude Qunari. It doesn’t look out of place, though, does it?”

“No. That’s actually kind of cool. Unless it’s, you know, coming at you.”

Fenris snickered. What intrigued him most, from a purely anatomical standpoint, were the female drawings. He’d seen naked women, but never close-up, or from this angle.

“You were right, Anders. Women’s bodies do look complex.”

“Told you. But, see this bit, right here? That’s important. You pay attention to that, and you’re pretty much golden.”

“I have no desire to pay attention to any part of a woman, Anders.”

“No? No interest in the fairer sex?”

“Not so far. You’ve enjoyed both. Do you have a preference?”

“Yes. You.”

“Seriously.”

“My preference isn’t about gender, or bodies. It’s about the person. And, you are the person I prefer.”

Fenris smiled. He liked hearing that. 

He pulled Anders into another kiss. Despite the erotica they’d been viewing, Fenris wasn’t feeling particularly aroused; more... affectionate. He guessed by the gentleness of Anders’ kiss, he felt the same. He set the book aside, and let himself be pulled to lie in the healer’s arms.

“So many things have happened in the past six months. Sometimes, my head spins with it all,” Anders said. 

“Happening too fast?”

“No, not too fast. Just so much. Things I never thought, never imagined, suddenly became reality.”

“Do you regret any of it? Do you feel at ease with it all?”

“You know, I think I do. Finding peace with the Maker helps. I know He has a plan, even if parts of it nearly killed me. But, now, maybe I can begin to see His blessings.”

Fenris combed his fingers through Anders' hair. It was wild and tangled from the ocean breeze. “Cullen told you to count your blessings. You didn’t seem happy about it.”

Anders was quiet a moment, thinking. When he spoke, it was carefully. “I know Cullen believes magic to be a curse; most templars do. The Circle teaches mages they are cursed with the stamp of the Maker’s hatred. My father... he said I was cursed as punishment for his sins. Even you think magic is a curse, and hate mages--”

Fenris interrupted. “I’ve never said magic is a curse. Nor do I hate mages.”

“You don’t? But... the way you speak... you’re not even sure we’d have become friends, were I still a mage.”

“That doesn’t equate with hating you, Anders. I didn’t hate Hawke, even after what transpired between us.”

“Oh.” Fenris could see he was struggling with this revelation. If he’d known he labored under such a misconception, he’d have addressed it long ago.

“You have said magic is a gift. Others say it is a curse. I don’t believe it is either. It is no more than a trait which can be bred, like hair color or strength.”

“The Chant says it’s gifted by the Maker. And, warns against its abuse.”

“Would that more mages heeded that warning. Dark magic, blood magic, infects the Imperium like a plague. I’ve shared my experience as the victim of such power. You know my distrust is warranted.”

“I know... I guess I know. It’s just hard for me to hear all mages cast in the same shadow as as those who have performed evil. Losing my magic was no blessing, regardless of what Cullen, or my father, or even you believe. It nearly killed me. You are the only blessing to come from that loss. Yet, I know, if somehow my powers returned to me, you would turn away. What we have would die in the face of the magic you despise.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“I do not believe your loss of magic was a blessing. I told you so on the day you told me the truth of Hawke. Yet, it’s because of that loss I have come to know you, to see the man you are. It’s true, I would not likely have seen it while you still possessed magic. But, now I have, nothing can make me unsee you.”

“Truly?”

“I don’t lie to you, Anders. I never have.”

Anders buried his face in Fenris’ neck, and held him fiercely, trembling. His voice was rough with emotion when he spoke. 

“Fenris, you’re the most important thing in my life.”

“Anders... look at me.” When the honey-brown eyes met his, he spoke softly. “I am yours. With magic, without it, it doesn’t matter. You are all that matters.” 

Anders’ eyes glowed. His hand reached to caress the elf’s face, and he felt his insides go soft. His heart pounded in an erratic, delightful way.

“Now, that is a blessing,” Anders whispered.

Their conversation ran through Fenris’ mind frequently throughout the remainder of their voyage. In part it was the way in which he was beginning to view the results of the Tranquil brand Anders had received. While it, in itself, had been no blessing, it was affording Anders things he would not likely have had, otherwise; control of his own mind through loss of the demon, freedom from the Circle’s interest, the chance to find his family. Perhaps, if indeed it was the Maker’s doing, these were compensation for his loss of magic.

“When we arrive in Ferelden, we might want to buy a couple of horses for the trip to Ratspitz,” Anders was saying. “It’ll cut travel time almost in half. We can pick some up cheap at the port holding pens, if we’re not too particular. Plus, it’d be a nice gift for Vati, once we’re there.”

“I can’t ride, Anders.”

“You’re kidding. You talk about all these travels with Danarius. I assumed some of it was on horseback.”

“Much of it was. Even so, most slaves aren’t taught to ride. It’s much easier to catch a runaway who’s on foot, than on horseback.”

“So, what did you do, then?”

“I ran behind Danarius’ mount.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I am not shitting you.”

“You followed a horse, on foot? That’s insane. How could you keep up?”

“If Danarius went faster than a canter, he had me lie across his pommel.”

“Maker’s breath. Talk about uncomfortable.”

“That wasn’t so bad. It was the lashing with the quirt that stung.”

Anders’ brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would he lash you with the quirt?”

“To amuse himself, and the rest of the party.”

Anders’ face flushed with fury. “That son-of-a-bitch!”

Fenris pulled the fuming healer into his arms. He didn’t like upsetting Anders, but it was gratifying he was angry on the elf’s behalf.

“It’s alright. It’s past, now. He’s dead.”

“I know. I just really hate that bastard.” Anders shook off his irritation, and pulled away. “We could get one horse and ride double. There are worse things I can think of than riding tandem with you.”

“You decide, Anders. Try to get one with no teeth. Horses always bite me.”

Anders chuckled. “Because you’re so sweet. They think you’re a sugar lump.”

“I am not sweet.”

“You are so. I certainly like to taste you.” Pulling the elf into a kiss, he demonstrated just how sweet he found him. Fenris was swept into the ardor that so often manifested in their cabin. Anders was a lusty man, and he reaped the benefits. 

In short order, they were half-clothed, entwined on their bed as the sound of wet lips and heavy breathing filled the room. This, being held in Anders’ arms, feeling his body against him, knowing he was desired and cared for, was sometimes almost more than Fenris could bear. 

He relished pleasing him. And, Anders always pleased him in return, or at least offered. Occasionally, Fenris wanted only to bask in the afterglow of the healer’s pleasure, and savor knowing he’d caused it. 

Anders’ whisper tickled his ear. “Get naked.” He rushed to do so, happy to see the healer doing the same. He liked Anders’ body, very much. Liked to look at it, touch it, taste it. He pulled that body close, and began kissing his way down the flat stomach toward the jutting erection below.

“No... something different, this time,” Anders said, pulling him back up. Reaching under the pillow, he pulled out the vial of oil they often used when pleasuring one another with their hands. “Remember your watch-word?”

“Yes. What do you want me to do?”

“Lie here, facing me.” Anders began smoothing the oil on Fenris’ member, sending spikes of pleasure through him. Then, he watched as he applied the oil to himself. Watching him slide his hand along his own cock, smoothing oil over the flushed, swollen head, made heat pool in Fenris’ belly. “Come here,” he said softly, and pulled the elf into his arms. With a little shifting of of their pelvises, Anders thrust, and his slippery cock stroked firmly against the elf’s.

Fenris’ hips reflexively thrust back. He could feel each ridge and round of the cock sliding against his. It was good.

“You like that?” Anders murmured in his ear. 

“Yes,” he breathed. He thrust in return, the pooling heat expanding. He could hear the healer’s pleasure as they moved, his husky moans igniting the pleasure that was spreading from the elf’s loins. Typically, they took turns in bringing each other to climax during lovemaking, first one, then the other. This, together, was incredibly erotic. The sounds and movements Anders made, even as Fenris felt his own pleasure, were extraordinary.

Sliding, bumping, pressing... their cocks rubbed with delicious slickness. Each catch of the edge of Anders’ glans against his own sent pleasure blooming through his body. He pulled himself more tightly against him, entranced by the feeling of Anders’ body movements. 

“You feel so good.” Anders’ voice was taking on the low, raspy quality that passion always lent it, that never failed to send a thrill of excitement through him. The healer felt amazing to him, as well, but he’d lost his voice, as he often did. He made a piteous whine, hoping Anders got the gist of his meaning. With needy intent, he pulled him to roll above him, over him, on him. Immediately, he shuddered at the feeling. The pressure of their cocks against each other intensified, bringing loud moans from both their throats. 

But, it was the sensation of being surrounded by Anders that brought Fenris such heady ecstasy. His weight upon him, his arms enveloping him, satisfied something he couldn’t identify, and didn’t care, regardless. His hands slid down Anders’ back, feeling the stretch and pull of muscle as he moved. Down to the flexing of his buttocks, the curling of his hips. Fenris dug his fingers into the flesh, pulling him more tightly against his swollen and wanting shaft, moving against him with increased fervor.

Anders groaned, pressing his cheek to Fenris’, arms wrapping more securely about him. Fenris felt himself draw tight. Every sound he made, every slide of his cock against his, every arch and bow of Anders’ body, was bringing him closer to the edge. He felt the warm wetness dripping from both their cocks, adding to the slick they thrust through. He was almost there.

“Fenris... I’m close.” Hot, moist breath against his ear, Anders' voice catching as he began his rise to climax. “Come with me....”

Hands grasping Anders’ shoulders, a needy cry heralding his peak, Fenris burst into rapture. He spent himself between their striving bodies, heat and wet igniting the healer’s orgasm. Anders’ cry was muffled in the elf’s neck, his hips stuttered against the elf’s, erratic movements that drew out the pulsing pleasure. Shuddering, Fenris buried himself against the body now collapsed upon him. Such pleasure, such feeling... together.

Basking in the bliss, their breathing slowed and trembling ceased. Anders made to move off of him, but Fenris’ embrace prevented it.

“Not yet,” he said, wanting the warmth to last. Anders relaxed, sinking back over him, kissing him with gentle lips. Fenris’ chest filled with soft warmth, as it seemed to do when his senses or thoughts filled with Anders. “Did I please you?” he whispered.

“Maker, yes... more than you can know....”

In time, Anders moved off of him, and pulled the blankets over them. They kissed lazily, not driven by passion, but just for the closeness. Their bed and blankets were redolent of sex from their many exertions since starting the voyage, and Fenris reveled in it. It was the scent of their coupling, their passion, and it delighted him.

“Fenris.”

“Mm?”

“In Isabela’s Naughtycal book....”

“Naughtycal?”

“I’m really rather proud of that one.”

“You should be.”

“I do my best. But, in it... were there any pictures that bothered you? Anything that made you feel angry, or sad?”

A bit taken aback by the question, Fenris tried to remember. “I...ah... I didn’t like the ones with binding, or gagging.”

“Have you been tied down?”

“Hadriana liked to put me in chains; with food and water just out of reach. Danarius didn’t normally restrain me. He prided himself in my obedience.”

He heard Anders whisper, “Maker.” Then, he asked, “Does it bother you when I hold you tightly, or when I weigh you down with my body?”

Fenris smirked to himself. “No. I like that. I like feeling your strength.” He thought for a moment before making an admission. “You could... if you wanted... hold my wrists... tell me not to move....”

“Really? You’d like that?”

“I think I would. Is that wrong?”

“Nothing you share with me is wrong. I want you to tell me. I just don’t want to do anything that reminds you of the past.”

“This would be nothing like that. Having you take control in bed... even the thought of it is arousing.” 

Anders’ eyes shone. “Do you promise you’d use your watch-word if you needed it?”

“Of course.” 

Anders’ eyes looked into his intently for a moment, then he tore his gaze away. “Alright. Some domination, but, no binding or gagging. Tell me more. Did any other drawings bother you?”

“Whippings and spankings. I understand some people enjoy that in sex. But, I’ve been whipped. There was nothing pleasurable about it.”

“Right, the quirt.”

“That was uncomfortable, but nothing compared to whips.” He shuddered at the memory of the leather biting into his skin, the welts that burned for days; the price of disobedience. He felt the arms about him tighten, kisses dropped on his face.

“I would never hurt you, Fenris.”

“I know.”

“Tell me what else you didn’t like in the book.”

“Toilet... things. Do people truly do that?” He’d been both sickened and fascinated by the depictions which involved urination. He’d never heard of such a thing.

He felt Anders chuckle. “I’ve heard of it, but never done it. It’s not something I want to explore.”

“I can’t imagine anything more degrading than being used as a toilet.”

“Believe me, as a healer, I’m exposed to more than my share of bodily elimination. I don’t need it in my bed.”

“I could never be a healer.”

“Yeah, it’s often rewarding, but it has its drawbacks. Anything else come to mind?”

“Not that was uncomfortable.” 

“So... what drawings made you feel pleasure?”

Fenris squirmed inside. It was easier to discuss what he didn’t want, than what he desired. “This is difficult for me.”

He felt fingers card through his hair, and relaxed into it. “You’re not used to asking for what you want. You already said you’d like me to exercise control. How about I tell you what I liked in the book?”

“Yes. I want to know how to please you.” 

“Hmm. Let me think. The ones I liked best were those showing sex outdoors.”

“Is it the risk of discovery that appeals to you?”

He heard the healer grunt, then chuckle. “It may well be, considering when you asked, my dick jumped.”

Fenris laughed. 

“I love your laugh, Fenris.”

“Thank you. Have you ever had sex out-of-doors?”

“Oh, yes. Many times. Since we’ve been talking about going to my old home, I’ve had a fantasy about taking you out to the hayfield under a full moon.”

Fenris liked that. “What else would please you?”

“Having you inside of me.”

Fenris blinked in surprise. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

He thought about it. Tried to imagine it. It wasn’t a thought, or an image, that had ever been part of his reality. “I want to please you. I don’t know. I’ve never....”

“It’s alright, Fenris. Maybe later. Maybe never. Just because I would like it, doesn’t mean I need it, or would even miss it.”

He leaned his head so that he could look in Anders’ honey-brown eyes. “I like to speak with you. Even these things, that are hard for me, seem easy with you.”

“There’s no other voice I would rather hear, Fenris. You can tell me anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jackstaffs and limberholes really _are_ something nautical... I have no idea what.
> 
> Yep, you heard right. Fenris wouldn't care if Anders got his magic back. 'Cause, as they've established, he _likes_ him. A lot.


	17. Consummation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men reach Ferelden.
> 
> Fenris gets something he wants.

It was a clear, sunny day in the month of Drakonis when the ship docked at West Hill. Anders felt excitement at stepping onto Ferelden soil that he hadn’t anticipated. Also, a faint sense of melancholy. This was where he’d tried to find passage to Kirkwall, after Karl had been sent to the Gallows. It was the most pain he’d ever felt in his life, up to that point. 

He saw Fenris looking about with interest. There wasn’t much to see, really, that couldn’t be seen on any wharf. Asking directions, Anders led the elf toward the holding pens. He’d decided they’d pick-up one good horse. Preferably, a light draft beast that his father could use on the farm, or sell to another local farmer. Such an animal could also hold the both of them easily.

“You know horseflesh?” The elf asked.

“Pretty well. I liked working with animals. Vati taught me some basics.”

Anders settled on a gentle mare who was sound, and not too dearly priced. She was the sort that was commonly used on small farms; fit for riding, pulling a plow, or driving with a wagon. There were no saddles available, but a pad with girth strap made do. In short order, Fenris was seated behind him, their gear jerry-rigged into saddle-bags, and they headed for the North Road.

Once a few miles inland, the differences from the Free Marches were easy to see. The milder climate gave rise to different species of wildflowers, berries and fruit trees. There were fewer paved roads, excepting portions of the old Imperial Highway. Anders knew the North Road from his days on the run, and showed Fenris a few remembered points of interest. 

“I didn’t always take the North Road on my way out of the Circle, but seemed like I was brought back on it a lot,” he said over his shoulder.

“You always ran east? That may have been why you were caught so easily.”

“There’s nowhere to go, west, that doesn’t require a trip over the Frostbacks. And, that’s not skipping through daisies. The biggest cities are on the eastern coast, so that’s where I headed. Not that it really helped. They had my phylactery. Led them straight to me, every time.”

“Would it do so, now?”

Anders grinned happily. “Nope! Without magical energy in my system, it’s useless.”

“What would happen when they caught you?”

“Well, there wasn’t a fight, that’s for sure. A mage who attacks a templar is asking to get run-through. They’d drain my mana, throw me down, shackle me, get in a few kicks for good measure, then start the march back to the Circle.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, there were plenty of kicks to the head to wake me in the mornings on the trip back. Once there, they’d assign some punishment or another. Most of it was pretty simple. The last one... a year in solitary confinement... that was... it was... bad.”

“Yet, you ran, again.”

“I had to. Just like you had to. It was a good thing I did, too. While I was gone, Uldred and his group overran the Circle, and nearly everyone was killed. If it hadn’t been for the Hero of Ferelden, the entire Circle would have been Annulled.”

“Filthy blood mages.”

“Yeah. I gotta tell you, though. There were a lot more blood mages in Kirkwall than there should have been. I mean, just statistically speaking, a lot more. I think there’s something wrong with that city.”

“It’s just a city. And, blood mages are everywhere.”

“Not like in Kirkwall. Something’s amuck with that town.”

“Hm.”

“We’ll be going past the Circle, on our ride to the Imperial Highway.”

“Want to stop for a visit?”

“Hah! Yes, that’s just what I want. Although, it might be fun to walk in, and tell them all to kiss my ass.”

“Mmm,” Fenris hummed. His hands slid under Anders’ tunic, and his lips grazed the back of his neck. “I’ll kiss your ass....”

Anders chuckled, and felt a shiver go through him. “Maker, Fenris... what’s gotten into you?”

“I’ve been sitting pressed up against you for hours on this horse’s rolling back.” His hands reached around to the drawstrings on Anders’ pants. Filled with disbelief, and arousal, Anders felt nimble fingers find his semi-hard shaft, and stroke.

The feeling... on an open road, empty as it was... fueled his rapidly growing ardor. This was naughty. This was hot. He was hard as a rock.

“Does this please you?” Fenris spoke into his ear, hands doing torrid things to his flesh as the horse patiently plodded along.

“Maker, yes....” 

“Your body is beautiful, Anders. Riding behind you, pressed against you, your scent so warm, feeling your hips move between my thighs... you have no idea.”

The elf’s words were as erotic as his actions. Anders sank into the feeling, knowing this was going to be a very short trip to the Golden City. Fenris rocked his hips, and he felt his hard erection against his sacrum.

“Feel what you do to me? What pleasuring you does to me? Anders, I’ve been wanting you inside of me so badly. Imagine it, how I would feel around you as you moved...."

“I imagine it... all the time... faster, Fenris....” he was leaking, the precome slicking the elf’s strokes. “Ungghhhh... I don’t want to hurt you....” He was ready... so ready.

“You could never hurt me. And, I want you....” With a tight, squeezing twist of the elf’s hand, Anders was coming. 

When he could think, again, he was leaning with hands braced on the withers of their mount, gasping for breath. Sensing a total lack of direction, the mare had stopped, and was pulling mouthfuls of grass from the roadside.

“Fuck,” he breathed with disbelief. After a moment, his wits gathered, and he twisted, looking at the elf behind him. Fenris looked at him innocently, as though he had not just jerked him off in the middle of the road, on a horse, in broad daylight. “You are a very dirty elf.”

“I’m not the one who’s made a mess of my pants.”

“You are absolutely the one who made a mess of my pants.”

“This is a good horse. Very calm. Very patient.”

“This trip is starting out very well.”

By late afternoon, they were both more than ready to get off the calm, patient horse. Neither had riding muscles, and they were feeling the burn by the time they found a likely inn. Sliding down her sides, they swore and groaned, and made ridiculous movements trying to pull their pelvises back into shape.

“I hope they have a bath,” Anders whined.

“I hope you have a salve. I’ve got saddle galls.”

“We don’t even have a saddle.”

“You look. You’ll see galls.”

The inn did have a bath, if they were willing to pay for a private one in their room; which, they were. Soaking in hot water, crammed together in the little tub, they sighed with heavenly relief.

“Don’t worry,” Anders reassured the elf. “After a couple days, you develop a seat.”

With Fenris leaning back against him in the tub, he felt much, much better. The heat soaked the stiffness from his muscles, and the body glued to his front infused him with contentment. A contentment the elf seemed to share, judging by his deep sigh. 

“She didn’t bite me,” Fenris murmured. “I’m willing to give her a chance.” Anders snorted. There were a few women in his past he’d thought the same about.

Fenris didn’t have galls, but once out of the tub, Anders rubbed a soothing salve on the sore points of the elf’s rear. Kneading it into the firm flesh, the elf’s strong, smooth thighs open to give him room, Anders couldn’t help but replay Fenris’ words in his mind. He was too sore, they both were too sore, for amorous activity... but, he knew he’d be succumbing to the elf’s desires. And, soon.

Dinner was part of their night’s rent, and they enjoyed it in the downstairs tavern. A couple ales in a quiet corner went a long way toward relaxation.

“Was there no one at the Circle you remember fondly?”

“Sure. Karl Thekla. Mr. Wiggums. Enchanter Wynne.”

“I know of Karl. Who are the others?”

“Mr. Wiggums was the tower mouser. I got to know him well while in solitary confinement. He was nearly the only living thing I saw, for a year.”

“He was a cat?”

“Well, yes. He was a mouser. Even the templars didn’t make mages scurry about after mice. Although... that could have been fun. Shooting fireballs and lightening at the little bastards; missing now and then, and accidentally hitting a templar. Well, I suppose that explains why they didn’t make us do it.”

Fenris shook his head. “Who was the other?”

“Senior Enchanter Wynne. She was a Spirit Healer, too. In fact, she taught me. I haven’t seen her since I was a Warden. I wonder if she’s still alive?”

Anders was happy to find that his prediction was correct. After two more days riding, they were able to move more comfortably. He’d begun having Fenris sit in front, and taught him basic riding skills. He was more and more pleased with his choice of horse. Calm and steady, she was tolerant of Fenris’ fumblings at the reigns. She didn’t spook, bite, or kick, and had a lazy, smooth canter. Anders was thinking twice about giving her to his father. Despite his reservations about horses, Fenris seemed to be developing a fondness for the mare. He gave her bits of dried fruit when they stopped for rest breaks, and enjoyed rubbing her down at the end of each day. She’d be a good mount for Fenris, who’d already dubbed her ‘Patience’. 

Early one evening, Patience stood at the top of the steep grade leading down to the Lake Calenhad Docks, calmly waiting for her riders to decide their next move. They stared at the tower of Kinloch Hold, rising from the lake, silhouetted against the setting sun.

“Are you going to the Circle?” Fenris asked of the man sitting behind him.

“I don’t know.” He clucked at the mare, and held onto the elf as they started down the steep trail. Dismounting, they stood and looked across the water. 

“My phylactery is in there, somewhere.”

“What is it, exactly?”

“Just a vial of a mage’s blood that templars use to hunt them down if they run.”

“The templars use blood magic, to hunt mages?”

“Gotta love the irony.”

Anders looked at the Circle a while longer. “I’ve never willingly set foot on that island, and I’m not starting, now. Fuck ‘em.” 

The Spoiled Princess Inn was still in business. There were no vacancies at the inn-proper, but small cottages along the lake were available. After tending to Patience, and having a meal, they pulled chairs out of the cottage to enjoy the view of the lake as the sun faded.

“How did you get across the lake, when you escaped?”

“I swam, of course. Although, once, I stole a templar uniform, and took the ferry. I wasn’t caught for almost a month. Then, some parents, believing I was a templar, asked me to pray over their dying son. I realized I could heal him... so, I did. That ended my time as a templar. After that, they started locking up the uniforms.” 

Fenris chuckled. “You have huge stones, Anders. And, an equally huge heart.”

The healer smiled, and reached for the elf’s hand. “C’mere.” He pulled Fenris to straddle his lap, and leaned in for a kiss. Then, another. And, another. 

“Fenris... you’re sure about wanting me to take you?”

The elf’s face filled with anticipation. “Very sure.”

“You know your watch-word?”

“Freedom.”

“You won’t let me hurt you? Physically, or otherwise?”

“You wouldn’t, regardless.”

“Fenris, I want you so badly. I want to sink into you, and feel you come undone around me. I want to give you such pleasure. If you really want this....”

“I want this. I want this more than you know.”

Standing with the elf held firmly in his arms, strong legs wrapped about his waist, he carried Fenris into the cottage.

Making short work of both their clothes, he lowered them to the narrow cot. This elf was giving himself to him, and it was heady. As Fenris buried his mouth in his neck, he stroked his hand down his flank, pulling his leg up and over his hip. He could feel the elf’s hard shaft against his belly, and was delighted that he was equally aroused.

“Fenris....”

“Mpf.”

“Fenris, listen.”

“No more talk... just take me.”

Anders smirked, and pushed the elf onto his back. He pulled his arms above his head, crossing them at the wrists, and held them in place with one hand. Fenris’ eyes grew impossibly round, and then closed as he moaned, his body arching slightly toward him. Oh... yes.

“Fenris. Your prior experience with this is not going to happen here.”

The elf nodded, panting.

“Do you want to climax while we share this?”

A swallow, and another nod.

“Then you shall. This isn’t about you pleasing me. It’s about us pleasing each other. Do you understand, beautiful elf?”

“Yes. Yes.”

Still holding his arms above his head, Anders covered his mouth with a claiming kiss. “Now... leave your hands there, and let me pleasure you a while.” Anders released his wrists, smiling at the heat in Fenris’ eyes. He ran his hand down the body stretched before him, and felt a strange, possessive, protective lust rush through him. He buried his face in the elf’s neck, smelling his hot, addictive scent. With licking kisses, he tasted him, moving down his throat and chest. Fenris’ smooth, hairless skin begged for a mouth upon it, and Anders had no resistance. 

He’d learned that the elf was incredibly responsive. The smallest caress, or briefest sucking kiss, resulted in shivers and sighs. Making his way down the lyrium-lined body, he felt his own arousal increase with each shudder and whimper that Fenris made. His tongue traced the markings, following their path around the dip of navel, into the hollows before the jutting hipbones, around the hairless shaft and testicles. Dusky and swollen, his cock lay waiting on his belly for the attention Anders ecstatically gave. With small kitten-licks, he began to explore the elf’s turgid flesh. Fenris made a desperate whine, jumping slightly at the sudden attention. Anders looked up, and smiled. His hands were clasped tightly together, right where the elf had been told to keep them.

His tongue worshipped the rigid shaft before him. Long, wide swipes along the sensitive underside; swirling licks with pointed tongue to the swollen head. Fenris panted, body growing damp with sweat. His hips made small thrusts, searching for more attention. With firm hands, Anders held the restless hips in place, smiling at the elf’s combined shudder of lust and frustration at the restraint. Without preamble, he swallowed his cock.

Fenris cried out, hips thrusting hard against the restraining hands. With long, slow, sucking bobs, Anders pleasured the hot flesh in his mouth. Fenris was delicious. His skin, his juices, his sweat... Anders could never get enough of him. Moaning at the taste on his tongue, he relished his task. Slurping, he drew Fenris in, slid him out, and savored every flavor the elf had. Harsh cries signaled the elf’s climb to climax, and Anders didn’t want that happening quite so soon. With a final, languorous suck, he released the flesh from his mouth.

Fenris’ head flew up, arms reaching toward him. “No! Please!”

Anders smirked. “Where are those hands, Fenris?”

With a groan, the elf drew them back over his head. Anders leaned forward, kissing that panting mouth. Fenris responded with heat, whining piteously. Running a hand down the sweat-slick body, Anders moaned in response. Such tension, so much desire; the elf was nearly vibrating with need.

Reaching into the bag at bedside, he pulled out a familiar bottle of oil. Lying beside the quivering elf, he kissed him again, thoroughly. “I’m going to prepare you. Raise your knees, and spread your legs.”

Fenris immediately did so, his eyes dark with desire. Anders felt a jolt of deep arousal. Fenris had spoken truly, when he’d confessed his desire for domination. As small an amount as Anders had shown, just a few spoken commands, and the elf had reacted strongly. He’d expected that, from his observations. What he’d not expected, was to be so be so stimulated by it, himself. 

Throat thick with ardor, he told the elf, “Good... you’re doing very well, Fenris.”

Preparing Fenris was a sultry, languid affair. With oil and gentle fingers, the elf was slowly opened and pleasured. With kisses to his panting mouth, he was leisurely introduced to the sweet spot within him. His reaction to the first, ever, stimulation of his prostate was spectacular. With a surprised shout, he arched violently off of the mattress, precome pulsing from his purpling cock. Again, and again, Anders brought him off of the bed, hearing his cries grow desperate.

Anders was nearly as desperate. Watching the elf shudder and pant, kissing his hot, sweet mouth, his own cock was dripping with want. His voice had gone low and raspy when he spoke, “Fenris, you’re ready.”

Unexpectedly, though not surprisingly, Fenris rolled over, onto his belly. With heartstrings tight, Anders gently turned him onto his back, and moved over him. Passion-filled green eyes regarded him. “Tell me what to do.”

“Wrap your legs around my waist.” Anders felt himself surge when Fenris complied. Holding the elf’s eyes with his own, he made a slow, controlled thrust, and breached the the body beneath his. Fenris had sunk into the bed below him, conditioned to go lax when penetrated. Anders slowly slid into the welcoming embrace of the elf’s sheath. Deeper... deeper... to the hilt. Anders held still, gasping with the sensation of Fenris’ body around him; hot, slick, impossibly tight. He pressed his face into his neck, trembling with both the physical and emotional intensity. He was inside Fenris... as close as they could possibly be. They were joined. 

He had to move.

With a slow pull and another slow push, he began. The elf’s body rippled along the length of him. With each slow thrust, Anders gave a shuddering gasp, struggling with the need that nearly crippled him. Fenris remained placid, but for the quaking of his body and breathy whine in his throat. Hands gripped Anders’ shoulders, blunt nails biting into his skin. Anders’ back curling and arching as he thrust, he looked into the elf’s face. Fenris gazed back, eyes half-lidded, and asked with a passion-laden voice, 

“Do I please you...?”

Anders’ heart ached with the beauty and poignancy of him. Sliding his arms under the elf’s shoulders, cupping his head in his hands, he whispered, “Oh, Fenris... so much... so much.”

With a tilt of his hips, he found the elf’s sweet spot, and Fenris’ back again arched up with a harsh cry. The elf was no longer placid, his sweat-damp body writhing in Anders’ arms. He thrust desperately against the healer, calling out with abandon as Anders stroked into him. Closing his eyes, Anders was transported by the bliss of the elf’s body. Each stroke within was an overload of ecstasy, driving him to surge faster, harder, deeper. 

Fenris was a slippery, undulating thing, with a voice that keened and cried his need. Anders tightened his hold, and with resolve crumbling, pounded into him, shouting with raw passion. The heat inside him was boiling, pulling him toward his peak.

Fenris’ voice formed words as his body heaved against Anders, “Please... please... please....”

Anders took the elf’s neglected cock in hand, and stroked. Voice tight, he rasped, “Come, Fenris...”

The elf wailed, convulsing beneath him as he spent himself between their striving bodies. Anders was transfixed by Fenris’ climax, the elf reduced to primal, desperate need as he thrashed with his release. With a sudden spasm, Anders shattered. He choked, unvoiced, as intense, spine-bowing pleasure rocked through him. His seed pulsed into the elf, filling him with his heat, his essence; binding them together.

Clinging to each other, their bodies calmed, and lungs slowed. Anders placed soft kisses on Fenris’ face and neck, stroking sweated hair out of his eyes. He felt utterly, and delightfully, drained. He hadn’t been sure what he would feel with this joining, but he was awash with tenderness. This elf... this sweet, passionate, beautiful elf.

He carefully pulled himself from Fenris’ body, and rolled over, taking the elf to lie against him. Fenris was utterly pliant, allowing Anders to move and position him as he desired. 

“Fenris?”

“Mm.”

“Are you alright?”

With a deep sigh, the elf replied softly, “I have never been better.”

Anders smiled into Fenris’ silky hair. “Neither have I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mare is a good horse. Very calm. ;-)
> 
> I just don't see Anders walking into any Circle of his own volition.
> 
> And, yeah... what's the bullshit with templars using blood magic? I can't eyeroll hard enough at the hypocrisy.


	18. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders arrives home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting pronunciations and meanings of Ander words as they appear in the story.  
> There's not a ton, don't worry. These are a reminder:
> 
> Mutter (moo-ter) = mother  
> Mutti (moo-tee) = mom  
> Vater (fah-ter) = father  
> Vati (fah-tee) = dad

It was the final day of their journey to Ratspitz Village. Fenris was packed, Patience was loaded, and Anders was still sorting his gear. Hair still wet from his bath, he pulled items out of his pack, put them back in, then pulled them out again. He’d put on two different shirts, so far, and was now considering his pants.

Leaning against the door of their room, Fenris shook his head. They would reach his parent’s village in late morning, and Anders had been a mess since last evening. He’d pulled the shears from the healer’s hand the night before, seeing how they shook. “Let me. You’ll scalp yourself, at this rate.” A quick trim to Anders’ collar-length hair, to even the ends. Then, this morning, Anders had flirted unabashedly with a maid to get access to the only room at the inn with a bathtub.

“Anders, they will not care about your appearance. They will care about your re-appearance.”

“Am I clean behind my ears? Mutti was big on clean-behind-the-ears.”

“Your ears are fine.”

“Where’s the letter from Cullen?” With a look of panic, Anders began tossing items out of his bag, again.

“You just put it in your hip satchel.”

Pulling it out, Anders sat on the bed and read it. Fenris joined him. 

“I tried to read it, but Cullen’s writing is too loopy,” the elf complained.

“Chantry education. They love their loops and swirls. It says:

“This document attests that the former mage, Erich of Ratspitz, known as Anders, has, through a failed Rite of Tranquility, lost his magical ability, and is no longer considered a Mage.  
As such, he is no longer subject to Circle rule, nor considered an apostate outside the Circle.  
By the Maker’s most Holy Blessing,  
Drakonis 9:37  
Ser Cullen Rutherford, Knight Captain  
The Gallows Circle,  
Kirkwall.”

“Erich?”

“Erich’s my birth name. That’s what my folks will be calling me. Either that, or ‘Evil mage! Kill it! Kill it!’”

“They will not say that, Anders. Erich... Erich. I like the sound.” 

Anders smiled at him. “I hope you hear it, a lot.” His smile fading, he looked suddenly anxious “Maker, Fenris, what if they do send me away?”

Placing a hand against the healer’s cheek, he replied. “Then, we will wish them Maker’s blessings, get up on Patience, and ride away. And, decide later what you would like to do. But, that’s not how it’s going to happen.”

Pressing a kiss into Fenris’ palm, Anders sighed. “You’re right, you’re right, I know you’re right.” He tucked the letter back into his satchel. “Well, I won’t find out sitting here. Let’s go.”

It was a nice morning to ride. They were in the foothills of the northern Frostbacks, riding along a seldom-traveled road that stemmed from the Imperial Highway. Green hills, dotted with wildflowers of every color, wild rams, foxes, mixed stands of trees. It was rich land, and Fenris could understand why someone would settle here to farm. Anders chattered, somewhat nervously, Fenris thought, pointing out childhood memories and changes.

It wasn’t long before they crested a low hill, and saw a village in the distance, smatterings of farms in its outlying areas. A windmill turned with the warm breeze, and the sound of distant roosters crowing reached their ears. Growing quiet, Anders guided Patience slightly south of the village, and a farm-hold soon came into view. A large cottage, two barns, an outhouse. A smaller version of the village windmill turned beyond the house, and further beyond it was a large pond. Pastures with stock grazing, and fields of grain and hay extended into the distance.

“That’s it....” Anders whispered.

As they approached the cottage, Fenris saw a woman in a side yard, hanging laundry on a line. Short, with dark hair pulled into a bun, her back was to them. 

Anders breathed, “Mutti. It’s Mutti.” 

Dismounting, Fenris led Patience as Anders walked hesitantly forward. As they entered the yard, Patience nickered at a horse in the paddock, and the woman turned. 

Her comely face held surprise, but no fear, and she started to smile in welcome. Her gaze fell on Anders, and her mouth fell ajar. With a hand pressed to her heart, she gasped.

“Erich?” She took a step forward. “Is it you?”

Anders looked back at Fenris, and continued his wary approach.

“Mutter.... I...” He was cut off when she moved forward with hands outstretched, and took his.

With tears in her voice, she whispered in disbelief, “It’s really you... I’ve prayed for this day, for so long.”

Fenris saw Anders falter, then fall to his knees before her, wrapping his arms about her waist. Like a child seeking comfort, he burrowed against her, and sobbed. Holding his head to her heart, she dropped her head to his, and wept with him.

Fenris was surprised to feel his throat grow thick with emotion, watching as mother and son were reunited. Tears of joy flowed freely from both, until finally, Anders’ mother took his face in both her hands, and kissed his forehead.

“You look so much like your father. I thought you were him, walking into the yard.”

Anders stood, and hugged her again. He then gestured to the waiting elf.

“Mutti, this is Fenris.”

Anders’ mother was coming toward him, and Fenris felt a moment of panic. What would she say? What would he say? She took his hands in hers.

“I’m happy to meet you, Fenris. I’m Mina. Welcome to our home.”

He’d met Anders’ mother. She’d welcomed him. He glanced at Anders, and saw he looked dazed. Then, his mother was hugging her son, again, and he was struck by how much shorter she was than the healer. She looked nothing like her son, really. She was dark, short, sturdily built. Anders looked down at her with wonder, and Fenris knew he was having trouble believing she was here. And then, they were invited in, Patience was loosed into the paddock, and he followed as they were led inside Anders’ childhood home.

The cottage was typical of most that they’d passed in the countryside; round, with a thatched roof. This one was quite roomy, and bright with unshuttered windows. Fenris could see two doors leading to what he imagined were bedrooms. The large, multipurpose room was combined living, dining, and kitchen areas. The kitchen was large, and seemed to be the focal point of the home. There was a woodstove, that seemed both for cooking and heating. A large pantry was behind it, and a dining table stood nearby. 

The living area had a large window, surprisingly fitted with small, bleary, glass panes.There were several chairs, and a large, cushioned settee. A center table held a book, and a sewing basket. It was a welcoming, happy-seeming place. Anders’ mother--Mina--served them all tea, and they sat in the living area.

Anders joined his mother on a cushioned couch, both reaching out to touch each other frequently. Fenris took a chair facing them, and for the most part listened and watched as mother and son reacquainted.

“How are you here? Does the Circle let mages to leave? Or... Erich, are you an apostate?”

“I’m not with the Circle, anymore, Mutti. I’m... well, long-story-short... I’m no longer a mage.”

Mina’s eyes widened. “That’s not possible... is it? I’ve never heard of a mage losing their magic, unless they were made Tranquil. And, they are... not like you.”

“I was made Tranquil. Sort of. Here....” Digging into his hip satchel, he handed her Cullen’s letter. 

She read, carefully, her hand covering her mouth as the words sunk in. “Erich. Oh, Erich. Oh, this is wonderful! I’ve prayed and prayed for this. Since the moment you showed magic, I’ve begged the Maker to take it away.” Seeing Anders’ expression she examined his face. “But, it wasn’t wonderful, in your heart, was it?”

Fenris was surprised that she’d picked-up on that so easily.

“No, Mutti. It wasn’t wonderful. It was a nightmare. I’m good with it now, but it was... hard.”

“I’m so sorry. I would never pray for something that would hurt you. I just wanted you to come home. And, that could never happen while you had magic.”

“I know. I prayed for the same thing, for a long time after I went into the Circle. I just wanted to come home, too.” 

“Oh, sweetheart. Your father and I have both prayed for your happiness and well-being, every day since you left, clear up to today.”

“Will he be happy to see me?”

“Of course.” When Anders cocked his head at her with a raised eyebrow, she added, “Let me speak to him before he sees you, and show him this letter. He misses you, and loves you, as much as I do.”

They spoke in generalities, basic references to health and such. Mostly, mother and son seemed to simply gaze at each other, filling their vision with the family they’d lost. Fenris didn’t know how Anders would be able to relate all of his history in a single conversation, but knew it would likely occur when his father was with them to hear it. Some of what he had to say would be difficult for them to hear, he was sure. 

“The house looks the same as I remember. The kitchen, the table, that carving of Andraste, and the pig-shaped trivet. That’s the end-table I made! You still have it. When did you get the glass window?” 

“Oh, that’s a long story. Remember Schmidt? He had a hand in that. There’s another in the Gathering Hall in the village.”

“Fenris, look!” He stood and walked to the pantry door. He ran a finger along some notches made in the door frame. “This is where Mutti marked my height, every year.” Fenris joined him, and gazed at the small gouges in the wood. The highest one was about chest height. Anders had been a child here, he thought to himself. He’d known it, but here was clear evidence of his presence over the years. He tried to imagine Anders as a boy... it wasn’t hard. He still had boyish enthusiasm, was still playful, still prone to occasional pouts.

“Your room is as you left it,” Mina offered.

“It is?” Anders looked at one of the two closed doors. “You didn’t turn it into a work room, or a loo?”

Mina laughed. “Of course not! Go and look.”

Anders took Fenris’ hand and pulled him to the door he’d scrutinized. Pulling the latch, the door swung open, and revealed a small, tidy room. There wasn’t a lot to see; a narrow bed, a small table beside it; a pair of shelves; a small wardrobe. Anders pulled Fenris in to sit beside him on the bed; Mina appeared in the doorway.

“I had to throw out your empty wasp nest. Turned out it wasn’t so empty, after all. Otherwise, it’s just as you left it.”

Anders’ eyes roamed the space, and Fenris took note of where his eyes alighted the longest. The shelves held a variety of objects; a bird’s nest, a crystal rock, a large canine tooth, a carved wooden cat. There were squares of brown package-parchment tacked to the wall, with childish drawings of farm animals, a house, a fox and a wolf. Anders took a deep breath, and released it. He turned to look at his mother.

“For years, I’d awake in the Circle, and before I opened my eyes, imagined I was back in this bed. It took a long time to get over that.”

“I spent my mornings the same way, sweetheart. Expecting you to burst from your room, ready for breakfast. You can’t imagine how I missed you,” her voice caught, and Anders moved to embrace her, again.

Fenris looked away, feeling the emotion from the pair, as well as something he hadn’t let himself feel, before. Regret. That he’d not been able to reconcile with his sister; that he was truly alone, with no family. As happy as he was for Anders, in the presence of this reunion, he felt his solitude acutely, in a way he never had before.

A man’s voice calling from the yard interrupted all of their thoughts. Anders straightened with a look of fearful anticipation.

“Erich, don’t worry. I’ll talk to him, and show him the letter. Just wait here.” She smiled at him encouragingly, and left the cottage.

When she’d gone, Fenris stood and took his hand. Anders’ grip was tight and trembling. It seemed long before anything happened, or perhaps it was just that they were so anxiously awaiting something to occur. When heavy boots sounded in the entry, both men started, and stepped into the main room.

A man, who indeed looked very like Anders, stopped short at the sight of them. Older, bearded, Anders bore the stamp of his sire strongly. Each stared at the other for a long moment. Fenris looked back and forth between them, anxiety beginning to build with this strange stand-off. Finally, the elder of them spoke.

“Son.... you’re home.” In an instant, they came together in a fierce embrace. “My boy... my boy came back. You’ve come back to us.”

Lunch was forgotten. With awkward stops and starts, the family tried to reconnect. Not part of most of the conversation, Fenris watched and listened. He could hardly take his eyes from Anders’ father. Wil. When father and son had finally parted their embrace, his father had stepped forward, hand extended to Fenris, and welcomed him to their home, just as his mother had. The elf didn’t think he’d ever been so quickly and easily welcomed by anyone, as he’d been by Anders’ parents. 

What kept him staring wasn’t the welcome, however. It was the uncanny resemblance to Anders, himself. Wil wore a close beard and mustache. He may have been slightly taller than Anders. Rare white shot through his red-gold beard and hair, but otherwise, they were strikingly similar in appearance.

Where they weren’t alike was in their speech. Wil had the clipped accent of the Anderfels, much softened with long years in Ferelden. It was most apparent in W’s pronounced as V’s, and the odd Ander word sprinkled into his speech. Mina, on the other hand, was pure Fereldan; he remembered Anders had said she’d moved to the Anderfels in her childhood.

“What were you doing in the Free Marches, son?” 

Anders was still wearing a soft smile of delight. Fenris could see he was nearly high with the homecoming. “Um, working with mages outside the Circle, mostly. And, I’d opened a clinic for the poor and Ferelden refugees who’d emigrated during the Blight.”

“You are a healer?”

“I used to be a Spirit Healer. But, now, without magic, I’m limited to medicines and potions.”

Mina and Wil both smiled proudly. “That is the Maker’s finest use for magic. And, you’re still a healer, after losing yours?”

“I am.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Wil said. “I’m proud that you still wish to help others after the Maker lifted the curse of magic from you.”

Fenris noticed that although Anders frowned, he didn’t argue with his father referring to magic as a curse.

“Tell us everything, Erich,” Mina urged. “Since you left, until you returned, today.”

Anders smiled and shook his head. “That’s a lot of telling, Mutti.”

Mina laughed in return. “I remember a boy who could chatter for hours without stopping for breath. I’m sure you’re up to the task.”

Fenris snorted. He had no doubt. 

“Alright, but, get comfortable. This’ll be a long haul.”

And so, Anders told his parents of his life after he’d been taken from their home by the templars. With Mina eventually bringing snacks and drinks to share in the living area, the unusual and compelling story of Anders’ life was revealed. Fenris, who knew much of his past, learned more than he’d ever imagined. Anders didn’t go into detail, necessarily, but even the broad brush that he used painted a life that was surprising in its complexity.

He told them of the origin of his new name. Wil was pleased with it. If he had to bear a nickname, one denoting his heritage was commendable. He told of his studies, his Harrowing, his many escapes. Mina and Wil both looked saddened to hear of his early attempts to return home. He’d been a child, heartsick enough to run away, and that’s a sadness for any parent to hear. As his escapes turned to simple freedom-runs, Fenris was surprised to see grudging respect in both parents’ eyes. Although they clearly feared for his safety, and Wil didn’t seem to approve of mages outside the Circle, Anders’ tenacity and resourcefulness could not be denied. 

He spoke fondly of Karl Thekla, and the warmth they shared that stopped Anders’ escapes for several years. Mina was disgusted that two lovers with sincere feelings for one another would be unwillingly separated as he and Karl were. The mages in the Circle obviously had so little, she declared, why would the good they found be stolen? Fenris hadn’t considered that point of view, but could see Anders was thrilled his mother had. He was beginning to see Mina’s personality in him, the zeal and easy humor. 

Glossing over his year in solitary confinement, Anders moved on to his final escape. Both parents were relieved that he’d been gone when the Circle was overrun. They’d heard of it, they said, and had been worried sick that he’d been hurt or killed. Anders was surprised to learn they’d written to the Circle, hoping for news. They’d received a brief note from the Knight Commander, declining to give information on the status of Circle mages. Anders said it was likely due to embarrassment over his fugitive status. He’d made a mockery of the templar’s guard capabilities over a half-dozen times.

As he told of meeting the Commander of the Grey and King Alistair in Amaranthine, his parents were impressed. The Commander and the King were both heroes of the highest order in Ferelden; more-so to a couple who’d lived in the blight-ravaged Anderfels. When he followed that with the story of his conscription into the Grey Wardens, Wil exclaimed with excitement, “You are a Warden??”

“Well, I was. I’m not anymore.” Fenris knew Grey Wardens were held in varying levels of regard, depending on the country. He’d never seen quite this delight, before. 

“With your loss of magic, I imagine not. Yet, you were recruited, and fought darkspawn, as a Warden. That is a great honor. I’m proud of you, son.”

Fenris could see the glow that filled Anders. He could also see the hesitance to tell his father the real reason he’d left. After describing his time with the Wardens, Anders made a skillful sidestep into traveling to Kirkwall. He spoke of the harshness of the Gallows, his Darktown clinic, working with the man who would become the Champion of Kirkwall, and with that, a little about Hawke’s crew, including Fenris. Wil seemed to assume that Anders wasn’t in the Circle due to being a Warden. Anders didn’t correct his assumption.

“It sounds like you did important work, there. Helping those in need is always commendable. What exactly did you do with the mages, if you were not part of the Circle?”

“I, uh, sought to prevent abuses to those locked in the Circle. As bad as I thought Kinloch Hold was, the Gallows was much worse. Mages were made Tranquil for any and no reason, beatings, rapes, accusations of blood magic....”

“Why would the Chantry allow such things to happen?”

“Because they were bloody blind, that’s why. The Grand Cleric refused to look into it. I spoke to her myself. I spoke to the Knight Captain the day before I left Kirkwall, and he spouted about blood magic and ignored me. Mages are treated like....”

Fenris interrupted with a loud clearing of his throat. Anders stopped, surprised, then looked at his parents. Confusion, worry, misgivings... all showed on their faces. Anders shook his head. “I’m sorry. Things were bad there. I get caught up in the memory, sometimes.”

Mina spoke softly. “Erich... those things... did they happen to you?”

Anders looked caught between worry and gratification. “No, Mutti. I never got more than a few cuffs and kicks. And... solitary.”

“If you weren’t in the Circle, how did you become Tranquil?”

“I don’t remember what happened the day I lost my magic. Fenris found me.”

“Why would you be made Tranquil, Erich?” Mina asked. “Aren’t there rules for such a thing?”

“Usually. Like I said, the Gallows is a mess. Some of the templars have become so paranoid that they’re as dangerous as any blood mage.”

Wil’s face was serious. “You have not used blood magic.” It wasn’t a question. It was an adamant statement. 

“Never, Vater. I have never used blood magic, nor was I ever tempted to.” Fenris nodded. That much was true.

“Good. For the Chant tells us, ‘...they shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones’.” 

Mina picked up where Anders had left off. “And, so, you lost your magic, yet with that, were able to leave the Circle, and the Wardens, and now... come home.”

“Fenris was the one who pointed out that I could come home, actually. I didn’t know if you were even alive, or still living here, but I wanted to come. I had a friend look into it, and once we knew you were here... we left before a month was out.”

“Then we owe Fenris gratitude,” Wil said, looking at him. “We never imagined our son could return to us, no matter how we prayed. _Danke_ , thank you, for starting him on the path home, and for coming with him.” Both Fenris and Anders did a double take, then looked at each other with amazed faces.

“What is it?” Wil asked.

Anders gave a slow smile. “Just... something the Maker’s been telling me for a while, now.”

Both parents smiled broadly. “He speaks, if we but listen. I’m so pleased you’ve not turned your face from His light, Erich.”

“I did, Vater, for a long time. I felt he had turned his back on me, and I turned away, as well.”

“Faith is often tested, son. There’s no shame to find yourself faltering. You found your way, that’s what’s important.” He looked at Fenris, then, and the elf felt compelled to sit up straight. “Do you believe in the Maker, Fenris?”

“I... want very much to.”

“How were you raised?”

“Vati, that is another long story, for another time.” Anders said. Fenris was grateful. Wil and Mina seemed decent people, but his story was not something he told casually. Or, at all.

“How long can you stay?” Mina asked.

“We have no plans.”

Wil’s face lit up. “Stay. As long as you can. Perhaps you can help with the farm, if you’ve a mind. I’m spending a good lot of time at old Olaf’s. He’s taken ill, and there’s no one but his housekeeper to help around the place. She’s willing, but she’s a tiny thing.”

Anders glanced at Fenris, who nodded. “I’d love to. I’ll teach Fenris to milk a cow and buck hay.” Fenris’ surprise must have shown, for all three laughed. 

“What is your livelihood, Fenris?” Wil asked.

“I am a warrior, by trade.” 

“He’s been teaching me the quarter-staff, Vati. Since I lost my magic.”

“You taught him well, as a child,” Fenris said. “He remembers much of it.”

Wil was smiling and nodding. “He had a knack, as a boy. I look forward to sparring with you both.”

Mina stood. “Not tonight, you won’t. It’s well past bedtime, and these boys are exhausted. Erich, two grown men can’t fit into your old room. Remember the old bunk-room next to the hayloft? Why don’t you take that. We can set it up tomorrow for a longer stay.” She hugged him tightly. “We’re not letting you go anytime soon, now that you’re back. You and Fenris just plan on settling in, hear? Now, join us for a prayer, and then get some sleep.”

Each going to one knee on the floor, Wil began to sing a portion of the Chant, a piece of thanksgiving. Fenris didn’t know this part, but he listened, captivated, by the beauty of the song. Parents and son didn’t chant, as Fenris had heard, before. They sang. Melodic, beautiful, the Chant took on a sound such as the elf had never heard. Anders had said his mother’s voice was beautiful, and it was. He focused on Anders, his mellow tenor carrying true. 

After many long hugs between the family, Wil handed Anders a lantern, and they left the cottage. The bunk-room was a large room with two bunk beds, a table and a door. There was the smell of animals from below, but Fenris found he didn’t mind it. 

Anders was nearly hyperkinetic. He chattered, and fidgeted, and continually put his hands over his face in disbelief. He touched everything, as though to assure it was real. Fenris watched as he coaxed a barn cat to him, and immediately turned into a baby-talking fool over it.

“I missed having kitties around, yes I did. Aren’t you a pretty kitty? Who’s a pretty kitty?”

“I thought you burned down the barn. How do you remember this room?”

“That was the other one, the equipment shed. Vati was barely able to get the wagon and some tools out. Looks like they rebuilt it.”

Leaving the cat, Anders grabbed several armloads of hay from the loft, on which they lay their combined bedrolls. Undressing, they crawled in and doused the lamp.

Anders pulled Fenris to him with a deep sigh.

“We’re here. I can hardly believe we’re here. Maker, we’re here. ” He was nearly vibrating with the excitement of the day. “They welcomed me home, Fenris. They want me to stay... at least, a while.”

“They seem to be good people, Anders. They also welcomed me. I worried about that.”

“Of course they welcomed you. You’re good people, too, Fenris. Are you alright with staying a while?”

“I will go where you go. As long as you want me, that is.”

Anders drew him into a long, deep, sweet kiss. “Plan on being with me a very long time, then.”

“Anders.”

“Yes?”

“Your father believes magic is a curse. I know well your opinion of that. Why did you not argue?”

“Fenris... I... I just want my parents back.”

“At what cost? Will you sacrifice your own convictions to keep peace with your parents? Is that what you imagined, when you came here?”

“Is it such a sacrifice to let things slide? To not argue with Vati, when all I’ve wanted for so long was to hear him call me his son, again?” Anders sounded as though he were near tears.

“I don’t know. Only you can answer that.”

Anders buried himself against Fenris’ body, and was silent. Gently stroking his hair, the elf let him think through his pain and confusion. It didn’t take long.

“I do want to have that conversation with him. But, not right now. Right now, I just want to be with my parents. I want to hear them, and see them, and smell them. I want to soak in their presence until I believe that I’m actually home. But, I’ll talk to him, at some point. It probably won’t change his opinion, but you’re right. I have to speak my truth to him.”

Fenris smiled as he rubbed his cheek in the soft, tousled, golden hair. “There’s the Anders I know.”

Anders pulled his head up to look into the elf’s eyes. “Are you actually goading me into defending mages to my father?” 

“No. I am encouraging you to be true to yourself, as you always have been. That’s part of what makes you extraordinary.”

The grin he received lit the dark room. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, will you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Would you sing again?”

“Now?”

“Your voice is beautiful.”

“Wow. Um... sure.” He cleared his throat, then began to softly sing of Andraste’s despair for her people. Fenris felt it lift him, and fill his throat with emotion. When Anders finished, it was a while before the elf could speak clearly.

“I’m glad we came here, Anders.”

He felt, as well as heard, the whisper in his ear. “So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, name pronunciations:
> 
> Erich = Eric  
> Wil = Will  
> Mina = Mee-nah  
> Schmidt = Sh-mitt
> 
> Anders' real name was chosen because I liked the sound of it, not for any special meaning. Same with Wil (which is short for Wilhelm, but that never comes up).  
> Mina has a reason, which I'll bring up, later. 
> 
> So, although Wil obviously has an opinion about magic, Mina not-so-much. Like she said, she only wanted the Maker to take Anders' magic away because that's the only way he could come home, again.


	19. Boy to Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris get to know Wil and Mina.
> 
> Wil points-out something important to Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Ander:
> 
> Ja (yaw) = Yes
> 
> Nein (nine) = No
> 
> Junge (yoong-a) = Boy
> 
> And, as a reminder: Ratspitz is pronounced Rot-spits.

Anders awoke hungry and alone; Fenris was gone from the bed. It took him a moment to recall yesterday’s events, and another moment to relish them. With a great, jaw popping yawn, he stretched and dressed.

The sun in the sky bespoke late morning. He saw no sign of Fenris or his father as he made his way to the outhouse, and laughed to see his name still on the door, where he’d carved it as a child.

“Mutti?” He called, entering the house.

“In here, Erich. Oh, sweet Andraste, I can’t tell you how long I’ve hoped to hear you calling for me, again.” Standing at the table, rolling out dough, she was wearing a flour-dusted apron and the smile he remembered from his childhood. He was surprised how little she had changed, over the years. She was still his Mutti, with her dark blue eyes, dimpled smile, ready wit, and open nature.

“Have you seen Fenris?”

“He helped Wil with the chores, then went with him to Olaf’s, to help over there.”

“Vati’s already working him?” He didn’t want Fenris to think he was here as a farm-hand.

Mina laughed. “I’d say Fenris is working your father. He was up early, and said you needed to sleep-in. He joined us for breakfast. He’s such a well-mannered fellow, Erich. So well-spoken. He offered to help with the chores, and when Wil said where he was going, and why, he offered to go along.”

Anders sat at the table. Mina took a plate that was warming on the stove top, and set it before him. With a heartfelt thank you, Anders ate with gusto. His mother’s cooking. How damn long.... “Wow. I know he’s no stranger to hard work, but....”

“He’s using it as an excuse to quiz Wil about your boyhood.”

“Really? Why?” He paused in his speech to savor the flavors in his mouth. It was just bacon and eggs, but it was _his mother’s_ bacon and eggs. “Oh, Mutti, I missed your food.”

With a laugh, she dropped a kiss on his head. “I missed you eating my food, my son. Have you met Fenris’ family?”

“He doesn’t really have any.”

“Well, if he did, and you’d met them, wouldn’t you have asked about his childhood?”

Anders thought about it, chewing his bacon. He would love to know anything he could about that mysterious elf. “Yeah. I would. What’s he asking?”

With a smirk, Mina countered, “Do you want to know what he’s asking, or what your father is answering?”

He snorted. “Both.” Aside from a few streaks of white in her dark hair, a few more pounds, and a few more laugh lines, his mother had changed remarkably little. Probably because he hadn’t been here, making her old with his antics and attitude as a teenager. He knew she was the same height, but she seemed much shorter than he remembered. She could walk under his arm if he held it out straight. She still looked as strong and capable as she had been at... how old was she?

“How old are you, Mutti?”

With a bark of laughter, she flicked flour at him with her fingers. “Old enough to know better, and too young to care.”

Chuckling, he brushed flour from his tunic. “Really. You don’t look any older.”

“I’m fifty-five, upstart. Your father’s two years younger.”

Anders exclaimed with delight. “Younger! I didn’t know that. Good for you.”

She laughed, and Anders realized how much he’d missed this. Exactly this. Sitting at this table, eating his mother’s food, laughing with her as she worked.

“I’ve missed this, sweetheart.”

“Me, too.”

“Have you been happy, Erich?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. Other times... well, that’s life, isn’t it?”

“So they say. Fenris seems to make you happy.”

Anders knew he shouldn’t be surprised that she knew they were more than friends. Mutti had always known things before he told her. “Did he talk about us, this morning?”

Smiling, she shook her head. “No. I get the feeling that he doesn’t open easily. It’s clear by the way you two look at each other.”

“Does Vati know?”

“Your father is more perceptive than you realize. He just keeps what he knows to himself. He must have prayed for an hour, after you went to bed, giving thanks for your return.”

Anders’ heart swelled. “Really? He’s the one I worried about accepting me back. I mean, he’s the one who called the templars.”

Mina sat down next to him and took his hand in hers.

“Sweetheart, he called them because he was afraid of what might happen if he didn’t.”

“I know. I set the barn on fire, what might I do next?”

“Partly. That wasn’t all of it. You were so angry and frightened, I don’t think you understood what was happening. Rumor was spreading in the village. Some people were very upset, some felt you were an unacceptable risk. Your father feared for your safety. At least in the Circle, he thought you’d be kept safe from those who were... unsympathetic.”

“I didn’t realize.” He hadn’t. He’d only known that his father wanted to send him away.

“Of course you didn’t. You were just a boy. A scared little boy, and my heart broke a thousand times to send you away.”

“But, Mutti, Vati said I was punishment for his sins. He looked at me as though... as though I....”

“I know. You know how he feels about mages; but you have to know, he _never_ stopped loving you. He blamed himself for the magic that took you from us, not you. ”

“Why does he hate magic, so much? I did good things with the powers given to me. Last night, he even said healing was a good use of magic.”

“He’s not unrealistic. He knows there can be value in magic. But, he can’t forget the danger, either. He will never trust mages. He has his own reasons, sweetheart. Things that are hard for him to talk about.”

“He and Fenris will be thick as thieves,” he muttered.

“That’s not such a bad thing, is it?”

“I guess not.” He wasn’t sure why he felt disappointed. Nothing had changed since last night. His father wasn’t going to change a lifetime of beliefs, just because he’d returned home. Yet, even now, as a grown man, Anders struggled with the visceral pain of a child rejected by his parent. He had wanted his father to want him, no matter what. He sighed. He’d talk to Vati, in time. Until then....

“You’re home now, Erich. We can begin, anew. What do you want for supper, tonight? Last night was poor offerings.”

And, like a child, sitting with his mother in his childhood home, his mood suddenly swung in the opposite direction.

“Fish stew! Or, your schnitzel. Or, schweinenbraten?”

“Or, all three?”

“Mutti! Would you, really? Oh... you’re teasing. That’s not nice. I’ve been wanting your cooking for more than two decades.”

“Didn’t they feed you in the Grey Wardens?”

“No. They starved us. We were given dirt, and water, if we were good.”

“And, apparently, it fed you well. Mudpie, it is.”

“Mutti....” he whined.

She laughed, enjoying their long lost repartee. “If you’re through with breakfast, go down into the cellar, and bring up some carrots and potatoes. We’ll set some schweinenbraten to slow cook until suppertime.”

Jumping up and putting a kiss on her cheek, he rushed to do her bidding. The cellar door was outside, leading into the dug-out room under the cottage. In winter, they’d stored fresh meat there, once the ground had frozen. In warmer weather, it held smoked meats, root vegetables from the previous season, large barrels of brined pork. As he gathered the ingredients for one of his favorite meals, he was caught between laughter and tears. He was giddy with the return of what he’d lost, emotional from the love and acceptance he’d been shown. As he worked with his mother to put supper together, he fell back into the days of old. The only thing that seemed to have changed was that Anders was now the one who reached for items on the high shelves.

“Tell me what sort of things Fenris likes,” she said.

“He’s not particular, but sometimes his stomach’s sensitive to new foods. He lived on... a limited diet.”

“Oh, I can work with that. Leave it to me.”

As they finished putting the braten on to cook, Wil and Fenris came through the door. Anders could feel the ease between them. When the elf came to stand beside him, he drew Fenris in for a good morning kiss. He was startled by a longing “Ohhh!”, and turned to see Mina with a hand over her heart, smiling sappily at them.

“What?”

“Oh... just, to see my boy with someone special. I missed your first love, Erich. I missed all your firsts, after you left.”

Grinning, Anders replied, “Well, there are some firsts I’d’ve definitely made sure you missed.”

With a groan, Wil rolled his eyes. “Oh, he is his mother’s son. Fenris, I will apologize in advance. Mina’s humor tends toward the... ribald. It appears Erich takes after her.”

“No need. I’m well aware of his bawdy nature. It has its own appeal.”

Putting his arm about his wife, Wil replied, “Well, you’re right about that.”

“Mutti, I think they’re teasing us.” Anders was grinning with delight. His father was including Fenris in the family byplay.

“I noticed. Isn’t it sweet?”

“Is that what it is?”

“After all the years your father has put up with my antics, he deserves a little commiseration. Not every man enjoys so much cheek.”

“I don’t remember you giving that much cheek.”

Both Wil and Mina smiled. “You were just a boy. You weren’t in on my best stuff.”

Wil shook his head. “I’m afraid you may be getting to know a new mother. You’re an adult, now, and privy to behaviors you’ll not remember.”

Anders looked at Fenris, who was smirking. “You got your behavior, somewhere, Anders. Now, we know. Your mother’s mind, your father’s face.”

He looked back at his father. “Should I be worried?”

It was his mother who replied. “Probably.”

That afternoon, Mina helped the two men clean their room in the hayloft. Immediately upon entering the space, she noticed Anders’ pillow on the bedroll.

“Erich! You still have this? I can’t believe it. How have you managed to keep it after all this time, with so many things happening?”

“It’s important to me, Mutti. Of course I kept it.”

She sat in the bed, tracing the stitching with her fingers. “I remember making this. I remember putting it into your hands, in those shackles, when they took you away.” Her eyes filled with tears, and Anders sat beside her, his arm about her shoulders.

“There were times it was the only thing holding me to my sanity. It’s meant more to me over the years than I can tell you.”

“I’m so glad I was with you, in some small way. I just wish I could have been there, to help you through your difficult times; to see you grow and change.”

“Me, too. You know, I may have changed, but you sure haven’t.”

Laughing, Mina put the pillow down. “I think you’ll find a few things have changed, young man. Let’s get this place in order.”

“Drakonis 9:37

“Dear Varric,

“I hope this letter finds you, and the gang, in good health.

“We’ve arrived at my parents’ farm. It’s gone incredibly well. I can’t tell you how well.

“I can never thank you enough for your part in finding them. Ever.

“We’re staying for a visit of undetermined length. I’ll let you know if plans change.

“Maker watch over you,

“Anders.”

In the first few days of their visit, there was easy, familiar comfort; interlaced with awkward, getting-to-know-you moments. Anders could see his parents struggle with the fact that he was grown, and not the twelve-year-old that he’d remained in their minds over the decades. It was Fenris who seemed to smooth things. The elf was clearly, and only, a grown man in their eyes. His simple presence reminded Mina and Wil that Anders, also, was a grown man, with a life and history beyond that which they had witnessed.

As days grew into weeks, and both parents and son began to drop their initial guard, Anders learned new things about both of them. Some were to be expected, after twenty-plus years. The white in their hair, and new lines on their faces. Other things he noticed weren’t changes so much as revelations of personality that he’d never experienced. As a boy, he’d known his parents as child would. As an adult, he discovered the layers and aspects that come to light in all parents as children grow into adulthood.

Wil possessed much more humor than Anders had realized. It was dry and subtle, but delightful; much like Fenris’ wit. He rarely wasted words on frivolous talk, which, as a child, had made Anders think his father was rather dull. Now, he saw him for the man he truly was.

“Vati, you never had a sense of humor before. You’re actually pretty funny.”

Wil cut a wry look at his son. “Looks aren’t everything, Erich.”

“Hold it... did you just call yourself funny looking? That’s kind of... Hey... I look just like you!”

Fenris chuckled. “Remember what I said about entering a battle of wits unarmed?”

Wil’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “I like this elf.”

Anders huffed. “Yeah, you would.”

Mina was wickedly playful. He remembered his mother as fun, but hadn’t realized the mischief she was prone to. Likely, she kept most of it from him to avoid influencing him. She would pull pranks, tell jokes, and tease her husband. Anders was suprised and delighted to see how good-natured Wil was about it; laughing and teasing back. Anders’ mother was not just playful, but occasionally, as Wil had warned, ribald.

The last quality made Anders squirm. As a child, he’d held his mother as second only to Andraste herself. Ideal, perfect, pure. Now, he had trouble reconciling this three-dimensional, fully mortal woman with the mother of his memory. When he heard an off-color remark, or crude language, he was shocked to realize it was his mother speaking so.

“Mutti! I can’t believe you just said that!”

“What did she say?” Fenris asked.

“She said Isabela sounds like a good time.”

Fenris chuckled. “She probably is, given her admitted reputation. You would know, wouldn’t you? You spent time with her at the Pearl, in Denerim.”

Mina clapped her hands together. “You’ve been to the Pearl? Even we’ve heard about the Pearl in Denerim. Did your friend Isabela work there? Were there chandeliers and velvet drapes?”

“You seriously want me to tell you about a whorehouse I visited?” Anders looked at his father, but Wil only rolled his eyes.

“She was a patron, I understand,” Fenris told her. “She said Anders had an electricity trick that was very nice.”

“ _There’s_ an appropriate use for magic,” Wil grumbled.

“Fenris, you’re not helping.”

“This is nothing you wouldn’t discuss with anyone else, Anders.”

“Yeah, but this is my mother.”

Mina planted a kiss to both their heads as she passed behind them. “You’re both fine gentlemen,” she said. “Now, what was this electricity trick?”

“Vati....” Anders implored.

“Leave me out of this,” Wil said.

Anders asked his parents about his closest boyhood chums. They were sad to report how many had been killed during the Blight. Some hadn’t been killed, but had stayed in Denerim, finding the rebuilding effort, and a life outside of their small village, appealing. A couple had returned, maimed in the war. Both since died, due to complications from their injuries. Anders had never really considered what a toll the Blight could take on a small village. He was the only male left of his age-group in the community.

Anders found he was jealous of his time with his parents. Except at bedtime, he spent most of each day in the company of one or both. Working with his father, helping his mother, sharing meals. He reveled in prayer time in the evening. He had so missed the singing of the Chant. He could see Fenris was beguiled by it, as well, and was proud to share his family’s worship with him.

As the weeks passed, they established a routine. All three men woke early, and made very short work of the chores. Anders was surprised how easily it all came back to him. It was like no time had passed; pitching hay down to his father from the loft, mucking out the stalls, milking the cows. Fenris caught on to it quickly. He wasn’t as adept at milking as even Anders’ out-of-practice hand, but he worked diligently.

They then rode to Olaf’s farm, nearby, and took care of the stock, there. Anders’ didn’t remember Olaf from his childhood. On their first ride over, Wil explained. At the start of the Blight, many of those living in the southern portions of Ferelden had come north. Olaf had left Honnleath, and finally settled on the outskirts of Ratspitz. He’d originally arrived with his wife and daughter, but his daughter had married and moved away, and his wife had passed several years prior. He was ill, now, with no one to help with the farm but the young elf woman, Nia, who’d been their housekeeper since Olaf’s wife fell ill. While she was able to tend to Olaf, the house, and meals; the rest of the place needed help.

“Why doesn’t he hire some hands, to help on the farm?”

Wil shook his head. “There’s a shortage of young men, without farms of their own, in the area. So many died in the Blight. Olaf’s housekeeper has a young husband, but he’s no farmer, he has a tailer shop in the Village.” He eyed the two men riding beside him. “Many young ladies, and not-so-young ladies, will be disappointed to learn you returned with a partner. Husband material is scarce, as Mina says.”

“The village should pool their funds and send for some of the refugees still in Kirkwall. I know many that would love to return to Ferelden with jobs and security, if they could afford the trip.”

“I’ve never been more thankful to the Maker than I am that you returned to us, Erich. But, your timing couldn’t be better. I’ve struggled to manage both farms. I’m blessed with health and the opportunity to help my neighbor. But, I’ll not deny it’s been hard.”

“Hey, I’m happy to help.”

“I am pleased, as well,” Fenris added.

“You’re both generous, and I’m grateful.”

Nia was excited that a healer had come to tend to Olaf. Anders didn’t have the diagnostic abilities that magic had leant him, but in this case, he didn’t need them. Olaf was very old. He was simply failing to thrive, and there was little that could be done, outside palliative care. He provided Nia with some medicines, and instructions, but it was simply a matter of time.

Olaf’s home wasn’t like the round, thatch-roofed cottages that most farmers had. His was large, with a shingled roof, and had many rooms. He offered Anders some spare furnishings in exchange for his care and medicine, which he gratefully accepted. A bed and wardrobe, carried up the the bunk-room in the loft, gave he and Fenris a comfortable space.

In their new bed, after preparing for sleep, he and Fenris talked endlessly about everything they did and learned. Anders was hungry to learn all he could about his parents, and would quiz Fenris about time the elf had spent with them outside of Anders’ presence. As always, when snug in bed, in the dark, Fenris opened up and spoke freely. He was enjoying working on the farm. He liked working with the animals, liked doing heavy work with crops and maintenance, liked being in the clean air and sunshine.

“I’ve always lived in the city. Danarius had country estates, but they were nothing like this. I like the freedom. I like seeing the horizon, watching the sun rise and set over the hills, the smell of hay and wheat in the fields. I like working with the horses. I even like how it feels to rest my cheek against the cow’s flank as I milk her.”

Anders smiled at his enthusiasm. “Is there anything you don’t like about farming?”

“Yes. All the manure. Cities have horse and dog crap all over the streets, but on the farm, with cows... that’s some serious shit.”

Anders laughed. “I guess you’d notice it more than I do, running barefoot.”

“I’ve gotten used to dodging it. And, I don’t like the chickens, either. They peck my hands, and flap their wings, and they crap everywhere. Every-other step they take, they drop another splat. Filthy creatures.”

“I’m surprised how easily farm work comes to you,” Anders said. “You’re no stranger to hard work, but like you said, you’re a city dweller.”

“I enjoy being part of this. The work here matters. We watch as the crops grow, and the stock fattens. We drink the milk, and eat the eggs, and your mother bakes bread from the grain. Even doing repairs on the fences and buildings keeps us and the animals safe. Do you see, Anders? _It’s important._ It means something.”

“I do see, Fenris. I’m glad you’re happy here.”

“I am very happy,” Fenris said, kissing him.

Anders’ father was happy with how much work was able to be done, now that there were two more workers on the farm. Enough that he actually had some free time, the first in many years.

“Son, let’s see how you’re doing with the quarter-staff.”

“Alright, but it’s not going to be much different than the last time we sparred.”

Fenris snorted. “You don’t give yourself credit, Anders. You took down an abomination single-handed.”

“Yeah, and it nearly killed me, if you recall.” He went up to their bunk room, and brought down his staff.

“Wil, I notice you wear yours at all times. Is there so much danger in the area?” Fenris asked.

 _“Nein,_ not often. Wolves, or a bear, on the odd occasion. It comes in handy for other things, as well; as a lever, or to test boggy ground, things like that.”

“Hm. Perhaps I’ll trade my blade for my staff, then.”

“Good plan,” Anders said. “And, you can lose that armor. It’ll just be hot and cumbersome in the summer.”

Wil assumed a fighting stance, and grinned at his son. “Well, _junge,_ let’s dance.”

His father was skilled. He hadn’t realized how skilled, as a boy. He started out easy, and began putting the pressure on as they continued in their match. It was tough work, holding his own against the older man. Finally, Wil ended it by disarming him completely, and sweeping his legs out from under him. Flat on his back with his father’s staff-blade at his throat, Anders rasped out, “Yield!”

Smiling, his father gave him a hand up. “You just started training again, this year?”

“Several months ago.”

“Well done, son. And, to you, as well, Fenris. He’s been well-coached.”

“He’s a good student,” Fenris said, looking on proudly.

Wil looked at Fenris. “Alright... what about you, young man?”

Anders grinned at the surprised look on the elf’s face. “Me? You wish to spar with me?”

 _“Ja._ If you’re willing.” Wil grinned at the two men. “If you’re concerned for your safety, you can team-up with Erich.”

Anders laughed at the jibe, and saw Fenris take the bait. “I’ll go get my staff,” he said, and ran for the barn.

“Just so you know, Vati, he’s very good.”

“I’ve no doubt.”

“I mean, those aren’t just tattoos.”

“What are they, then?”

“It might be easier to show you,” Fenris’ voice said from the barn door.

When Wil assumed his fighting stance, Fenris mirrored it, and activated his markings. Anders laughed at his father’s expression. “Start dancing, Vati.”

It was a much more evenly balanced match than Anders expected. He was, frankly, shocked by his father’s skill-level. He could see that Fenris wasn’t expecting it, either. Even with the elf’s lyrium abilities, Wil was able to keep up and maintain a fair defense for quite a while. When Fenris finally swept the older man onto his back, and pulled back his fist to plunge into this chest, he hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” Anders asked.

“It seems... impolite to shove my fist into your father’s chest, Anders. He is my host.”

Wil’s eyes widened. “Shove your fist into my chest?” he asked in disbelief.

“Vati, relax a minute. Go ahead, Fenris, show him.”

With a look of misgiving, Fenris pushed his phased hand into Wil’s chest.

“Holy Maker and His Bride,” Wil gasped, looking at the phased hand buried in his ribcage.

“If he was going for the kill, he’d unphase, and crush your heart,” Anders explained. Fenris pulled his hand back out of Anders’ father, deactivated his markings, and offered him an assist to stand.

“What are those?” Will asked in amazement.

Fenris sighed. “The markings are lyrium.”

“Lyrium? But, you’re not a mage. How are you alive?”

Shrugging, the elf replied. “I don’t know. They were burned into my flesh by a Tevinter magister, my former master.”

“You were a slave, in Tevinter?” Wil asked in surprise. “The magisters have always been the source of greatest evil in this world, defiling the very halls of the Golden City. For you to have escaped their clutches, and found freedom, the Maker has surely watched over you.”

Anders saw the admiration in his father’s eyes, and the respect growing in Fenris’ eyes.

“Will your old master come for you?”

“He did, many times. The last time, I killed him.”

“Good.”

Holding out his arms, looking at the markings with disdain, Fenris said, “These are his legacy. I was his greatest creation. A weapon, forged of lyrium and flesh, my sole purpose in life that of dealing death.”

Wil shook his head. _“Nein,_ Fenris. You were not created by a magister. You were created by the Maker. He has been there since before your first breath, He composed the cadence of your heart. You are a man, not a weapon. Killing is sometimes necessary to live, but you are much more than that.”

Anders stood, heart pounding with the import of the words his father spoke. He saw Fenris struggle with this new truth tearing down the paradigm of a lifetime. Wil approached the confused elf, and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Give the Maker time, Fenris. He will make everything clear. He’s already begun.” And, with a nod, he left them and walked into the cottage.

Anders moved forward, and took the elf in his arms. Fenris leaned into him. “Vati’s right, you know. He usually is. You are not Danarius’ creation. You were his victim, of countless crimes. But, you’re free of him, and with the Maker’s guidance, you can choose your purpose in life. Warrior, farmer, teacher, traveler; anything you desire. The world is open to you, Fenris.”

The elf wrapped his arms about him, and Anders gently rocked him; listening to the breeze whisper through the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, doing math, Wil was sixteen when he married Mina (who was eighteen).
> 
> Anders' pillow... he must have carried it _everywhere_ he went. I mean, he wasn't expecting to leave the Wardens when he did, yet he had that pillow with him!
> 
> Fenris... his self-image was created by Danarius, for Danarius' own needs and ego.


	20. A Whole New World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family goes to the Summerday celebration.
> 
> Fenris ruminates on his impressions of country life, so far.

Fenris couldn’t breathe.

He struggled, his lungs constricted, his body ignoring his brain’s commands. His brain was beginning to blur, as well. On his knees, straddling Anders’ lap, his back against the healer’s front, he was in a torment of ecstasy.

Anders knelt on their bed, one arm across Fenris’ chest, holding the elf tightly to him. Fenris slowly rose and lowered, feeling the hard cock within him, stroking over his prostate with each rise and fall. His head tipped back, resting on the strong shoulder behind him, as Anders’ other hand gripped the elf’s shaft, stroking in time to his body’s movements.

Anders’ voice whispered in his ear. “You feel incredible, Fenris... so fucking good on my cock. Ohhh... tight... hot... slick... tell me you love it.”

 _“Ungh... ungh..._ I love it... I need it....” His belly was filled with scorching heat, his loins cramping almost painfully as Anders’ voice spoke such words. The hand on his shaft was too slow, too light, to take him where he desperately needed to go. He couldn’t climax with stimulation to his sweet spot alone... Anders intended to keep him here for a while, and he groaned in delighted misery.

“You love my cock inside you... you want what I can give you... you need the words that I say....”

Fenris whimpered, nodding at the truth he spoke. His hands were clasped behind the small of his back, where Anders had put them, and instructed him to keep them. This pushed his back into an arch, putting him in the perfect position for Anders to stimulate him with both his cock and his hand. 

Anders ran his lips and tongue over the elf’s ear between statements. “Fenris, beautiful elf, tell me how you feel, right now....”

He struggled for words. When Anders asked this, he wanted a detailed answer. Fenris knew that it would bring him that much closer to his finish. _“Ungh..._ boiling inside... can’t breathe... falling apart....” Anders gave a hard, deep thrust, drawing a shout from the elf. _“Venhedis,_ Anders! I can’t....”

“You can....” 

Anders’ body was quaking with restraint, but he moved no faster. Fenris tried to speed his rise and fall, but the strong arm about him held him still, stopping all movement, even the hand stroking him froze. He moaned miserably. “Don’t stop....”

The voice in his ear was calm, lightly amused. “I set the pace, Fenris.”

“More... more....” 

With a chuckle, Anders began again, faster this time. Fenris cried out, desperate to unleash his body, to impale himself on the hard shaft inside of him. He knew if he only had patience, Anders would give him everything he wanted, everything he needed, and more. His balls were pulled tight against his body, his cock slick with the dripping precome flowing over the healer’s fingers as he stroked. 

“You don’t really want to come yet, do you?” Anders’ voice was tight, low, rasping. He sounded on the edge, but Fenris knew he could stay right here, for an unbearably long time.

Gasping, Fenris fought for his voice. “N-n-no... yes... yes... oh, Maker... no....” A clench of the fist on his shaft made him lurch against the restraining arm with a choked cry. “Anders... do with me what you will....” 

He felt the healer’s body spasm, heard him groan. “What I will do with you, elf, is take you to the Golden City.” The cock inside of him began to drive harder and faster, the hand on his shaft stroked with more pressure. “What I will do... is fuck you until... until you... oh, Maker....” Anders lost his train of thought as the pleasure began to ride over them both. Groans and cries sounded in counterpoint to each other, the slap of flesh meeting flesh as their movements grew frantic.

Back arching, voice choking, Fenris felt himself draw unbearably tight. “I need....”

“Not yet....”

He wailed, “I can’t....”

“Almost....”

His body writhed out of his control, voice howling.... “Anders!”

“Come, Fenris.” 

He was blinded as his entire being shattered, held together only by the arms of the healer. Intense, pulsing spasms ripped through him; cock spending heat, ass gripping Anders’ rigid flesh as he was filled, hot seed claiming him. They lurched together, swaying with the waves breaking over them.

At last, they sagged, listing to the side, falling to lie spooned on the mattress. Lungs heaving, Anders still made sure to unravel Fenris’ limbs, and pull him to lie supported against his body. Feeling himself moved, his mind not yet reconnected to his body, Fenris, as always, was utterly reassured. Anders always took care of him after being taken to such heights, always held him close and made sure he was unharmed.

“Fenris,” came the whisper. “Alright?”

“Mm-hm.” It was the most he could manage, and Anders knew that.

“You’re beautiful, and perfect, and so fucking sexy it should be illegal.” Anders knew how to please both the body and the soul.

When Fenris could speak, he sought the answer he always needed. “Did I please you?” 

“More than you can know,” came the gentle reply. His hair was stroked, and body soothed with soft caresses. “You always do. Did I please you, Fenris?”

“You always do.”

The reassurances had become their ritual. It was one of Fenris’ favorite parts of pleasures shared with Anders.

Three moons had waxed and waned since arriving at the home of Wil and Mina. The Summerday celebration had been their introduction to the community-at-large. Fenris had been unsettled by the thought of it. He preferred to stay in the background, unnoticed, ignored. By Anders’ description, as newcomers, they would be the center of attention. Well, he was a newcomer, and Anders a returning son.

Mina had described the Village celebration before they attended. Kirkwall had celebrated the holidays, as well, but Fenris had avoided them. As a slave, he’d attended them with Danarius, but he had not been there for the festivities. In the Village, there would be a procession of the young people coming into adulthood, and the people being joined in marriage. A Chantry Mother would be coming from a distant town, to perform the wedding service. 

There was still no Chantry in Ratspitz, and no one was in any hurry to request that one be established. The populace was extremely devout, but they also treasured their privacy. A Chantry would not only put the Village on the map, it would be a draw for others to come and settle there. By popular decision, the people decided to forgo building one. The only service that required a Chantry official was the marriage, and it was easy enough to have someone come once a year for that.

It turned out to be less onerous of an event than Fenris had feared. Ratspitz Village consisted of those who had trade in the village-proper, and more than a dozen farms in the surrounding area. The village was surprisingly well serviced, with a general store, lumber yard, blacksmith, about ten businesses that Fenris could see, all along one street. The farms ranged from simple gardens and family stock, to a few of impressive size. Some were close to the village, some were so far out that the families only came in for festivals. When all the farming families had come into the village-proper, there were close to 200 people. To Fenris’ relief, there were too many other things going on to allow for much ogling of the two men. Wil and Mina introduced them to a few friends during the processionals, and pointed out yet others. 

Lacking a Chantry, the ceremonial portions of the celebration took place inside the Gathering Hall. It was a huge, one-room building, empty but for long tables and benches. It had walls that lifted out, and could be propped up to extend the roof all around; or left down for inclement weather. Its inside was covered in paintings depicting portions of the Chant, and Andraste. There were numerous wooden and stone etchings hung on the outside walls, that could weather the winters of the Frostback foothills. All of the artwork was fine quality, true to the artisan tradition of the Anderfels.

Fenris listened with interest to the information given to the young people entering into adulthood. Their new responsibilities, expectations, well-wishes. Once the talk was over, they would proceed through the village again, cheered by the onlookers, from then on be known as adults.

“Is it their age, that determines they are ready, or their behavior?” Fenris asked.

“Seventeen is the oldest age, and if they haven’t been given adulthood before then, it’s simply assumed,” Mina said. “Before that, it’s pretty much up to the parents when their children are presented as adults.”

“Why would they be any younger?”

“Oh, a matter of pride, and accomplishment. Wil was fifteen when his father decided he was ready; but, he was born old. It’s really just ceremonial, not a legal thing. Erich hasn’t gone through the ceremony, yet he’s certainly viewed as an adult. For a community who has watched their young grow up, it’s special to be a part of their adulthood ceremony.”

Later in the day, the marriages took place. Two couples were sharing the nuptials, and stood nervously as the Revered Mother began the ceremony.

Fenris was looking around the crowd. Having lived in large Tevinter cities, and then in Kirkwall, he was struck by the lack of diversity. 

“Anders,” he whispered.

“Hm?”

“There’s no dwarves or elves in this village.”

“Nia and her husband are elves.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, there’s you. It’s a small village. Most elves stick together, in alienages. It’s a little surprising no dwarves have settled here, being so close to Orzammar. Does it bother you to be such a minority?”

“No. I don’t need elf companionship. It’s just so different from the cities I know.”

“You’re a big city elf, aren’t you?” Anders whispered into his ear. “Out here in the country, having your way with the poor farm boy.”

Fenris bit back a snort of laughter. “The farm boy has his way with the poor city elf, is more like it.”

“As long as someone is having his way, and we’re both involved, I’m good.” 

Wil’s voice spoke from behind them. “If you’re both satisfied with who’s having whom, kindly pay attention to the ceremony.”

Anders blushed brilliant red as Fenris held in his laughter. 

“Trouble-maker,” the healer muttered.

After the ceremonies, Wil took both Anders and Fenris around the village and introduced them to people integral to the community. As opposed to most towns and villages of Ferelden, Ratspitz didn’t have a mayor as its leader. A council of four people, mostly those who’d come from the Anderfels, led as a unit. Even ‘lead’ was a strong term; guidance was closer to their true activity.

Ratspitz had existed when the group of Anders immigrated to Ferelden. At the time, it consisted of a few dozen people who’d chosen the area for its isolation and good soil. The elders of the Anders had met with the villagers, and came to an agreement to join them. They, too, desired a certain level of isolation, and had no aspirations of growing into a town or city. The village itself became a central meeting place for the scattered farmers, and the location for artisans and merchant activities. Although some goods could be purchased with cash in the village, the most common method of accrual was through trade.

The four people had been chosen by popular vote to comprise the Council. Usually only meeting to discuss immediate issues that affected the community at large, the Council preferred people to manage their own affairs. During the Blight, the Council implemented watch and defense plans, which people participated in as they were willing and able. Wil was a member of the Council, as well as Schmidt, a former member of the Green Men in the Anderfels. 

Schmidt was Wil’s nearest neighbor, and closest friend. He was grizzled, with a wiry beard that hung down to his chest. He wore no mustache, his upper face instead decorated by parallel lines of thick scars on his cheeks. Anders said that he’d gotten them when he’d lived among the Orth, as a Green Man. He had a deep, gravely voice, and an accent thicker than Wil's. Meeting Schmidt was like having your soul bored into by his flint-grey eyes. His bearing was that of a man completely confident of his abilities and in charge of his life. Fenris decided he liked him.

“He’s renowned,” Anders told him. “He’s sired four children, all boys, on two women. That’s a lot for the Anderfels. He’s Varric’s equal with a bow, can drink any ten men under the table, and Vati said that his reputation among the women in their village in the Anderfels was nothing short of legendary.”

As they met people who had known Anders in his youth, Fenris had to hold back laughter. Anders must have heard a dozen older folk tell him how much he’d grown since they’d last seen him. At least Fenris didn’t have to deal with that inanity.

Wil proudly told those they met that Anders had not only been relieved of magic, but had been a Gray Warden. Most people Fenris had known held the Wardens in high regard, but those who’d come from the Anderfels were uncommonly impressed. As they all rode home in the wagon that evening, Fenris asked Wil about it.

“I understand the Anderfels are the headquarters for Grey Wardens, but your countrymen seem to almost revere them.” 

“The Anderfels is blight-ridden, and darkspawn still make surface forays. The Wardens are all that keep the country from falling to the darkspawn, again. The King of the Anderfels is useless as a leader to all but the capital city. The country’s populace is without protection or law, except for what the Wardens provide.”

“I thought they stayed out of politics, as a rule.”

“They do,” Anders answered. “The Anderfels is a major exception. There’s a far greater presence there, and they act in ways they wouldn’t, elsewhere.”

“The men and women of the village are proud to have a Grey Warden, active or not, in their midst,” Wil said. “Our son is a hero, in their eyes, for not only being recruited as a Warden, but for overcoming the curse of magic.”

“Vati, there was nothing heroic about it. I was branded by a damned templar.”

“And, survived it with your mind intact. That is surely the work of the Maker. You have been blessed, son.” 

Fenris watched as Anders sighed, and looked to Fenris. He knew he was reluctant to argue with his father. He also knew he was reluctant to tell his parents the truth of his leaving the Wardens. More than anyone, Fenris knew what Wil would feel when he learned the whole story. They shared similar views on magic and mages, after all; though Wil was more adamant than even the elf. Fenris was as reluctant for a schism to be created between father and son as Anders was. It was up to Anders to decide when the time was right. Fenris could only be there to support him when he did.

Since the Summerday celebration, the hay crop had been brought in, and another crop seeded. Fenris felt pride for his part in this. Groups of neighboring farms teamed together for the harvests, going round-robin to bring in each farm’s crop. He realized most of the adults shared Wil’s accent; these were families that had traveled to Ferelden from the Anderfels, together. They had all been uncommonly accepting of Fenris, when they gathered to work together.

Fenris was dumfounded. 

These people had only seen him in passing at Summerday. However, Wil had confided to a few friends that Fenris was an escaped slave from Tevinter. As in any small community, the tale had quickly spread. The story of his master’s attempts to reclaim him, and his subsequent death at Fenris’ hand had impressed them greatly. His hand was warmly shaken, and his name was spoken with respect. Anders had told him that those from the Anderfels tended to judge a person based on his actions. Somehow, he hadn’t expected it to apply to him.

During the harvests, they spoke freely to him, joked with him, laughed with him. During rest breaks, they included him in card games, and taught him songs they sang along with the music they played on a variety of instruments. They treated him as they would any other person, just as Mina and Wil did. It was almost too much. Fenris was accustomed to being lost in the background, ignored in a human-dominated society. So much attention and so many questions made him uncomfortable. Fortunately, Anders played interference for him.

He couldn’t forget the words Wil had spoken to him after their first sparring match. Danarius had always referred to Fenris as his creation. Certainly he understood that he’d been born of a woman, and had a life prior to the lyrium markings. Yet, his self concept was based on what the magister had done, and what he was trained to do. To have Wil so simply and emphatically deny that belief, and proclaim Fenris a child of the Maker... it had shaken the foundations upon which Fenris’ identity was built. 

He thought often of those words, and the words Anders had said after. A magister had not made him. The Maker had created him. He was not simply a clever weapon. He could choose his own life. He didn’t know what life he would choose, but he knew one thing, right now: 

Fenris liked it here. 

It surprised him. He hadn’t really known what to expect, coming here, and staying on the farm. Farming folk were often spoken of with backhanded derision, as though they were beggars toiling in the dirt for a pittance off the land. Nothing could be further from the truth, he realized. He liked working on the farm. He liked the open air, the smell of the animals, the sun on his back, the quiet in the fields. He liked working alongside Anders and Wil. He liked watching Anders aim the cow’s teat to squirt milk at the barn cats. He liked learning to use an unfamiliar tool, or harness a horse. He liked working the group harvest with other farmers who saw him as something other than a knife-ear, or a killer, or a monstrosity.

He liked Anders’ parents. He and Wil shared a fine connection. He reminded him of Donnic and Sebastian. Quiet, strong, with an unshakable faith in the Maker. Wil was as gentle, and warm of a teacher as his son. They understood one another on a deep level, sharing like views on many things. They didn’t need to talk, both appreciating the silence of understanding. In many ways, they were kindred spirits. 

Mina was kind and open, laughter flowed when she was present. She was accepting and encouraging and earthy. She fussed over Fenris as much as Anders, and he found he enjoyed it. She would hold out her cooking spoon, and tell him to take a taste; she made a point of always including foods in the meals that she knew he liked. She kissed the top of his head as he sat at the table, and called him sweetheart. He imagined that was what it was like to have a mother. And, it felt good.

He liked watching Anders with his parents. The healer had been so worried that they would reject him. Yet, they had welcomed him home with open arms. They proudly reintroduced him to their community. They respected him, and loved him, and wanted him in their life. 

He liked the quiet of evening, after the chores were done, and dinner was over. They would sit in the cottage with the breeze coming through the open door and window, or on the porch. Sometimes, Wil played a lute, the chords melding with the crickets and nightingales. Mostly, they talked. Fenris listened more than he spoke, but he enjoyed it greatly.

He liked singing the Chant together at bedtime. The melody, so unlike anything he’d ever heard before. It filled him with peace, even if he didn’t fully understand it. 

He liked learning more about Anders. As well as they had come to know each other in Kirkwall, it was nothing to how he was coming to know him, now. Talking together, working together, living together with his parents... he felt a stronger connection with him than they’d already had. Away from the chaos of the city, away from the distraction of the Gallows, and Hawke, and the desperation of Darktown, Anders was flourishing. He watched as he became even more the man he had been born to be. Respected in the community, not feared and reviled. Joyful, not angry and bitter. Free, not hunted and caged in the Circle. 

He liked bathing in the pond with Anders, splashing one another, stirring up the mud until they had to move to cleaner water. He liked sitting with him in the fields, a book over their laps, as Fenris improved his reading with Anders’ help. He liked working outside with Anders, the sunlight turning his hair into a nimbus of copper and gold, his eyes shining with their honey-warmth. 

Anders had said that Fenris could choose his future, he could be whatever he chose to be. And, though he didn’t yet know what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, Fenris did know that right now...

... he liked it here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wil's buddy, Schmidt (again, pronounced Sh-mitt... several folks had trouble with his name in the first edition), reminds me of Sam Elliot in Roadhouse. An awesome, bad-ass, somehow-sexy, old guy.
> 
> I like to think of Fenris getting in touch with his peaceful side, and enjoying the zen of farming.


	21. Careful What You Wish For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders confronts his father about a pain he's carried since childhood.
> 
> Mina tells Fenris things about himself he didn't even know.

As the month of Solace brought hot days and warm nights, Anders spent a lot of time in the vegetable garden with his mother. Many food plants were ripening, and preservation was underway to provide for the winter months. This had always been a task mother and son had shared in his youth.

One thing that had changed in Anders’ absence, was running water in the cottage. Wil had installed a pipe to the kitchen, through which the small windmill pumped water from the well. If the wind was lacking, the outside pump was used to fill buckets, to bring it inside. A drain pipe carried the grey water to vegetable garden. 

While Fenris worked the crop fields with Wil, Anders tended the garden with Mina. The elf had gotten comfortable enough to handle Patience on his own, particularly since Wil had a saddle that fit her. And, working the plow was easier than riding.

“I’ve missed working in a garden,” he commented, plucking the last peas from the vine.

“Didn’t you have one at the Circle?”

“No. Nothing grows on that barren pile of rocks. They wouldn’t have let mages work in it, anyway. Food was provided by the Chantry.”

“What harm could there be in working in a garden?”

“We might try to escape. We might grow forbidden herbs. We might poison the food supply. We might feel normal, and feel like life was worth living.”

“Erich, was it really that dismal?” 

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“Nothing you could have done about it. It’s unlawful to harbor an apostate.”

“What about in Kirkwall? Did you have a garden, there?”

Anders snorted. “No. I lived in Darktown, which was the ancient sewers. Even during the last six months, when I lived in Fenris’ house in a nice neighborhood, there was no room for more than a flowerpot. I gathered herbs for potions outside the city.”

“I’m so grateful Fenris took you in, when he did.”

“So am I. It was completely unexpected, but it saved my life.”

“Seeing you two, now, it’s hard to believe that you disliked each other for so long.”

“Yeah. It’s hard for me, too.”

“He doesn’t talk much about his past. What he told Wil was enough to break my heart.”

“It was bad, Mutti. I can’t stand knowing how much he endured.”

“He’s such a good person. Sometimes I don’t understand why the Maker sends such hardship to some.”

Anders warmed whenever his parents made a positive comment about the elf; and it happened frequently. He was pleased they approved of him. Not that it mattered, Fenris was part of Anders’ life, and that’s how it would stay, if Anders had any say in it. “He is, Mutti. He’s a better man than even he knows. He’s a better person than I am.”

“I wouldn’t say better, sweetheart. You’re both equally wonderful. There’s only one thing about the two of you being together that doesn’t make me happy.”

 _Aw, crap._ “That... my partner is a man?”

“Maker forbid! We don’t care about that. No. It’s that you won’t be giving us grandchildren.”

Anders burst out laughing. “What is it with mothers? You didn’t even know you still had a son until four months ago, and you’re already pining for grandkids?”

“That’s a dream parents start to have around the time their child is born. You coming back revived a whole bag of hope, young man.”

“Mutti, you know Grey Wardens are unlikely to bear children.”

“Oh, I know. Still, don’t tell me you never hoped for children, some day.”

“Yeah, actually, I did. I wanted a family. But, Circle mages aren’t even supposed to have sex, let alone get pregnant. Any babies born in the Circle are taken away at birth.”

“You weren’t always inside the Circle. Perhaps, while you were on an escape, you met a girl?”

“Are you seriously hoping that I knocked-up some barmaid in my youth? Mutti, is this even a proper conversation for us to have?”

She waved aside his objection. “Oh, don’t play the prude with me. You’re a lusty man. I’m sure some young lady caught your eye... or, is it that women don’t interest you?”

“A lusty man? I did not just hear you say that. You’re my mother!”

“Yes, your mother who can hear the two of you all the way from the barn, on a still night.”

“Maker’s breath.” Anders was cringing. He’d be shoving pillows in both his and Fenris’ mouths from now on.

“Oh, well. I can always raise cats, in my dotage.”

“I’m just dying, over here....”

“Get over yourself, sweetheart. You’ve simply inherited your father’s virility.”

“We are not going to talk about Vati’s bedroom performance!”

Fenris’ voice came from the front yard as he and Wil approached. “What’s got you upset?”

“Mutti called me lusty! And, told me Vati’s virile. That can never be unheard.” 

Fenris shrugged. “You _are_ lusty.”

Wil grinned. “I _am_ virile.”

“Maker’s ass. This so wrong.”

“Don’t blaspheme, Erich. Mina, you’re scaring your son.”

“Pshh. We were talking about grandchildren. I never imagined a healer would be so reticent to discuss breeding matters.”

“It’s _my_ breeding habits you’re talking about.” 

Will shook his head. “Son, speaking of healing, we met up with Schmidt in the field. His son is ill, and he hoped you’d come by.”

“Of course... Maker, anything to get me out of this conversation. Let me grab my potions bag.”

The village had no healer. Tena, a woman in her eighth decade, who’d come with the Anders-folk to Ferelden, was a midwife. But, though her knowledge of birthing and babies was vast, she knew little of general healing. Anders had met her, and had enjoyed discussing their common craft. 

Anders had known Schmidt since he was born. He was older than Wil by a decade, but he was vital. His first wife, who had borne him two sons, had died years ago, of simple pneumonia. Then, his sons had died fighting in the Blight. It was one of those terrible ironies that left the mind reeling. Schmidt had brought his family to Ferelden to escape the blight-ridden Anderfels, only to lose his sons to darkspawn. He had later remarried a young woman, Lera, and with her, Schmidt had sired another two sons, now three and eight. His youngest had a light fever, and was covered in itchy red spots. His mother fretted at his bedside.

“They just came-on overnight. He was tired after supper, so I put him to bed early. When I woke him this morning, he was covered in them.”

Anders nodded. “It’s avian pox. He’ll be fine in a week or two. But, it’s highly contagious. Have you ever had it?”

“Yes, the whole family has. It makes the rounds every few years. I worried because he’s so young.”

Anders nodded. “He’s young, but he’s a healthy boy. He should weather it well enough. I’ll give you a salve for itching. Anyone been in contact with your son?”

She sighed. “Several.”

Traveling to three nearby farms, it was clear that this was spreading like a field fire. Making rounds on all of Ratspitz Village, Wil introduced Anders to those who’d not met him since his return. Gossip had gone ahead, of course, and everyone knew Anders was back on his parent’s farm, with a mysterious Tevinter elf. The healer explained that avian pox was spreading, the signs to look for, and the treatment needed. Most folk had been through it at least once, and weren’t unduly alarmed. 

“If I still had magic, I could cure this in a snap,” he observed as they returned home.

“They trust you, with your potions and salves, more than they would your magic, son.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Mages are evil.”

“I’ve never said mages are evil, Erich.”

“You call magic a curse. You distrust mages, on principle. You said...” he took a deep breath, “you said I was your punishment.”

Wil reigned the horses to a stop and turned on the wagon seat to face him directly.

“What’s on your mind, son?”

Panic was in his heart. It was pounding wildly. How had he so suddenly come to this point? He wanted Fenris. He wanted his mother. He didn’t want to be sitting across from his father, starting a conversation that might end all that he’d only just started. He summoned his courage, and spoke.

“You turned from me, Vati. I was a boy, and I was scared, and you turned away from me. You called for templars to chain me and drag me from my home. They put me in a prison... you have no idea, Vati, _no idea_ what I went through in the years to come.”

“Erich....”

“You taught me that the Maker loved me, that I should trust in Him. But, then you said He’d cursed me. And, the Circle said the same damned thing. They tell mages that magic is the mark of the Maker’s hatred. Do you have any idea what that did to me?” Tears were beginning to pool and flow down his cheeks. He brushed at them angrily. 

“Erich, I never turned from you. I loved you then, as much as I ever had. I didn’t want to summon the templars... we didn’t have a choice. You were not my punishment... _losing you_ was my punishment. Please believe me, I could feel no pain greater than I did while watching you walk away.”

“Then, why did you say the Maker cursed me? ”

Wil was quiet for a long moment. “There are stories I can’t tell, Erich. Things I cannot confess. I know what mages are capable of, I know the evil they can do. So do you. You know what befell the Circle in your absence. You know what Fenris suffered in his slavery. What is such power, if not a curse?”

Anders took a breath. He’d argued this with many, before. Yet, this was the first time in his life that he’d ever spoken back to his own father. He might be nearing forty, but he’d never faced his father in an argument as a grown man.

He calmed his voice as much as possible, and quoted the Chant.

 _“Foul and corrupt are they_  
_Who have taken His gift_  
_And turned it against His children.”_

 _“His gift,_ Vati. Not His curse. Magic is a gift from the Maker. Any of His gifts can be turned against another; a strong arm, a sharp wit, a fleet foot. Magic is not alone in its potential for misuse. 

“It’s the man, not the magic, that performs evil. And, that man, who would use his magic in such a way, that man is an _‘accursed one.’_ His actions are the curse, not the magic that he used.”

Anders watched his father closely. His head was bowed, uncharacteristic in itself. The silence stretched on, as the two men sat motionless on the wagon seat.

Finally, Wil spoke. 

“Your argument is sound. I’m pleased with your understanding of the Chant.”

Anders exhaled. “Thank you, Vati.”

Wil met his gaze. “Yet, I cannot change what I have seen. I cannot forget what I have known. I’m proud of you. I’m proud that you used your magic for healing. I’m proud that you were able to use your skills to join the Grey Wardens. But, I cannot change how I feel about magic, Erich.”

Anders felt his heart sink. For a moment, just a moment, he’d been sure his father would see things from his point of view. He’d anticipated just this response, all along. Yet, he still felt let down.

Wil was looking intently into his face. “Are we alright, son?”

His father’s expression was filled with anxiety. So... Wil was as fearful of alienating his son, as Anders was of alienating his father. 

“I’m disappointed, Vati. I want you to accept all of me.”

“Magic is no longer a part of you.”

“But, it was. For two-thirds of my life, I was a mage. When you speak of magic as a curse, or say that mages can’t be trusted, you’re talking about me. Do you see that?”

“I don’t mean you, Erich.” He paused, then ventured in another direction. “Fenris feels the same about magic as I do.” 

Anders snorted bitterly. “That’s putting it mildly. He has cause to distrust them... I understand that.”

“As do I, Erich.”

“Yeah. But, he’s not my father.”

Wil nodded. “Yes, I am your father. I am also mortal. I love you, son. If we can come to no other agreement, please understand that.”

“I do.” He was pulled into his father’s embrace. “I love you, too, Vati.”

They resumed their journey home. There was a fragile silence as the odd, whirlwind dispute filtered through them. Anders had never longed for Fenris’ arms more than he did at that moment.

As they made their tender way home, he couldn’t help but wonder why the two men he most cared for in the world both had something in their past that made them distrust mages. Perhaps he was destined to bridge some divide for them? Either that, or the Maker simply had a sick sense of humor.

Which was confirmed upon arriving home. Fenris was in front of the cottage, cleaning tack, when they drove up. Wil took the horses to unhitch as Anders strode up to the elf and pushed his way into his arms.

Fenris accepted his invasion, and held him. “What happened? You were gone long. Is the boy alright?”

“Which boy?” he asked. “The boy I was, or the boy who’s ill?”

Fenris pulled him away enough to look at his face. “Something’s wrong. You’re not making sense. Talk to me.”

Sitting down together, Anders told him of the afternoon’s events. Fenris listened carefully.

“Then... all is well.”

“Is that what you’d call it?”

“Yes. You said what you needed to say. He heard you. You’d anticipated his response, already.”

“I guess. It’s just... I’d hoped....”

“You’d hoped he’d agree with you without question. It’s not going to happen, Anders. He’s a grown man, with a mind and a history of his own. He’s not so different from I, in his views. Yet, you accept me.”

“Maker, you two. He held you up as an example, too.”

“Anders... not everyone will see mages through your eyes. Not even your father. He loves you. He’s proud of what you did with your magic when you had it. He’s proud of who you are, now. Can that not be enough?”

Anders sighed. “I suppose it will have to be. Don’t think I’m going to take anymore mage or magic slights sitting down, though.”

“I didn’t expect it from you, in the first place. As I recall, I’m the one who cautioned you against sacrificing your convictions.”

“You did, didn’t you? Why was that?”

“I would not see you become a slave to another’s ideals; even your father’s. You had enough of that in the name of Justice.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be casting aspersions on his view of mages, when I’m sitting on my own abominable secret.”

“The two are separate matters. You will need to tell that story, at some point.”

“I know, I know. One hurdle at a time. Just... hold me for a minute.”

“I’ll hold you for as long as you need.” And, he did. Anders soaked-in the feeling of Fenris’ embrace. The anxiety and uncertainty of the afternoon slowly receded. With a deep breath and sigh, he pulled away.

“So... what have you been up to, while I’ve been off stirring-up family drama and childhood pain?”

With a strange frown, Fenris replied. “I tore the head off of your mother’s best layer.”

“You... killed her chicken?” 

“It was an accident,” Fenris rushed to clarify.

Shaking his head, Anders asked, “How do you _accidentally_ tear the head off of a chicken?”

“It was a mean bird. Your mother was gathering eggs, and it pecked her so hard it drew blood. I went out with her, and grabbed its neck so it couldn’t peck when she reached for the eggs. It jerked away just then, and... ripped off its head.”

Anders tried not to laugh, but the image was both horribly macabre and terribly funny. He was immediately glad that he’d inquired about Fenris’ afternoon. This was just what he needed to shake off his remaining unease. “What did Mutti do?”

“She just sighed, and said, ‘Well, I guess we know what’s for dinner’. She’s out back, now, plucking it.”

Anders couldn’t hold back his laughter. The elf was just so fussed about it, and it was the sort of thing that would only happen to Fenris.

Wil came out of the barn, then. “What’s funny?”

“Fenris ripped the head off of Mutti’s hen.”

“That mean, broody one? Someone needed to.”

Anders dissolved into laughter. “You killed Broody!”

Fenris scowled. “You’re sick, you know this?”

“You’re both a little off, as far as I can tell,” Wil observed. He gave Anders a wink, and he felt they would be alright.

As Anders continued making visits to the families most afflicted by the pox, Wil often went with him. Anders was delighted for the one-on-one time with his father. He felt so much more at ease, having said his point of view. The topic of magic and mages didn’t come up, again, though his mother mentioned the discussion to him.

“I’m glad you finally spoke to Wil about your feelings, sweetheart.”

“You are? I was scared half to death, Mutti.”

“What did you think he was going to do?”

“Make me leave? Tell me he hated me? I don’t know. He sent me away once....”

“Your father would rather cut off his own arm than send you away, again, Erich. I’d rip off his other one and beat him with it before I let him.”

Anders laughed. He hesitated before asking a question. “Do you feel the same about mages as Vati does?”

“The only problem I had with magic was that it meant you had to leave us. But, I don’t feel as your father does. I’ve never so much as met a mage.” She smiled. “Except for you. You could say, I’ve loved every mage I’ve ever met.”

“Too bad I didn’t make a better impression. I set fire to your best towels, the sack of oats, and the barn.”

Mina laughed. “No worse damage than you’d do on any given day as a toddler, my son.”

He smiled, then sighed. “Thanks, Mutti. It’s just so disheartening that I can’t get my own father to see my point of view.”

“He _sees it,_ sweetheart. That he doesn’t _agree_ with it doesn’t change how he feels about you. He loves you more fiercely than you’ll ever know.”

He loved his parents just as fiercely. He was happy he’d risked the journey to find them, again. He was happy Fenris was enjoying their stay. He was happy they were able to help his parents on the farm. He knew that he and Fenris had lightened the work-load considerably, and it was gratifying. 

The afternoon that he declared the two infants out of harm’s way, they rode back home in companionable silence. Anders was enjoying the unique pleasure that healers feel when a patient makes a recovery; especially as it was his first time treating the people of the Village. In just a few weeks, he’d begun to develop a sense of personal responsibility for the entire community. He’d had it in Darktown, as well. It was good to feel it, again.

“Son,” Wil began.

“Yes, Vati?”

“Your mutter and I have been talking....”

“About?”

“Neither of us has been so happy in the past twenty years, as since you returned home.”

“Me, too.”

“We’ve grown to care a great deal for Fenris, as well. He’s good to you, and for you, and a respectable man.”

“I’m glad you think so. I sure do.”

“Cold weather is a few months off, yet, but that bunk room in the loft won’t be enough when the nights turn cold. You’ll need to think of your plans for that time.”

“I know. I’ve been thinking about that. Olaf’s got several spare rooms. He’d probably--”

“We want you to stay, Erich. You and Fenris, both.”

Anders felt his heart skip a beat. “You do?”

 _“Ja._ For the winter, at the very least. Permanently, if it suits you. We’ll build an addition to the cottage. We’ll expand the main living area, while we’re at it. Put in a chimney for a fireplace on both sides.”

“That’s... that’s... a lot of work, Vati. Are you sure...?”

Wil grinned at his son. “We’re more than sure. Schmidt and several others have already offered to help with the work. You’re both well-liked. People want you to stay.”

His throat filled with emotion, he nodded. “I would like that, Vati, I really would. I need to talk with Fenris.”

“You do that, son. Mina’s talking with him today, to lay the groundwork. Your Fenris is undergoing a great change in his life. He’s redefining himself, and his relationship with the Maker. He needs to know that he has people who care for him, who accept him.”

Anders looked at his father in amazement. “How do you read people so well?”

Wil just shrugged. “He yearns, but he doesn’t know how to ask for what he needs.”

“You’re right, Vati. You’re absolutely right.” He wondered what was happening at home, right now.

Back at the cottage, Mina was teaching Fenris how to bake blackberry cobbler. 

The first time Fenris put a blackberry in his mouth, he’d been transported. He’d never tasted anything so delicious in all his life. Blackberries didn’t grow in the north. Too hot, Anders said. All three of them had laughed as he picked the berries with them, his bucket empty, his hands and lips stained purple. So, that morning, Fenris stayed in the cottage with Mina to learn to bake a blackberry cobbler.

Weeks ago, on All Soul’s Day, the community had gathered in the village after dark, and sang those portions of the Chant that described the martyrdom of Andraste. Large bonfires were lit, around which people paraded in remembrance of those who’d passed. Fenris had found himself conflicted. He thought of those people who’d been important in his life, who’d passed on. The first memory to cross his mind had been that of the Fog Warriors. The village that had taken him in, healed him, accepted him, and fought for him. The people who had shown him a new way to live, who had given him a view of life he’d never before had. 

Yet, he just as quickly turned the memory away. He’d been the one to kill them. His hand had brought the entire community to their end. How could he honor them, when his very thought tainted their memory? 

Beyond them, though, he’d had no one of import in his life who had died. Well, Danarius and Hadriana, but he would not honor their memories. His own mother had died, but he didn’t remember her. So many dead in his wake, and he was either unworthy of them, or they were unworthy of him. The Maker was fickle, indeed. 

Walking in procession with the entire community, he felt as though he was surrounded by faith. He hoped it might seep into him, give him the confidence in the Maker’s presence that Anders and his parents had. Although he wanted to believe the Maker cared for him, he couldn’t get past one question. If the Maker cared for him, why had He stood idly by as Fenris suffered through his life in slavery? Would a benevolent god do that? What possible purpose could there be for the pain he’d experienced? 

He had watched as Mina and Wil walked the procession. He felt a strange envy, lately, when he watched them with Anders. They were his past, his family, who wanted him, and loved him. Fenris had been relieved when Anders finally accepted his father’s difference of belief regarding mages and magic. He’d been nearly as fearful as Anders that a schism would be formed that could not be bridged. At the same time, he’d feared Anders would simply let Wil’s beliefs override his own. For all that Fenris might share Wil’s point of view, Anders’ strength of conviction was part of what he admired most about the healer. He didn’t want him to lose that. 

That Anders should stay comfortably held in his family’s embrace meant a great deal to the elf. Fenris had no past, no family. When he’d reached out to his sister, she’d only confirmed what he’d always believed, that no one could be trusted. Yet, here was Anders, welcomed back into the bosom of his family. A family that had welcomed Fenris, as well. When Mina had suggested he help her with the cobbler, he’d been quick to agree. Spending time with Anders’ parents was the closest to family he’d ever had.

“So, what do you know how to cook, Fenris?”

“I can spit game over a fire.”

“You didn’t help your mother in the kitchen as a child?”

“I’ve helped Anders a little, but I have no memories of my mother, or my childhood.”

Mina stopped gathering ingredients. “What do you mean?”

“When I received these markings, the agony wiped away my memories.”

The look of sadness on Mina’s face was eloquent, and her subsequent embrace fierce. He returned it awkwardly, but with warmth growing in his heart. She released him, wiping her eyes surreptitiously. 

“Fenris, I’m so sorry. You don’t remember your family?”

“No. Last year, I learned I had a sister. But, she betrayed me to my old master. Before she left, she said that our mother had died.”

“Andraste weeps.” More tears from Mina, and she blotted them on her apron.

“I apologize for upsetting you. It wasn’t my intent.”

“Of course it wasn’t. I’m just... so hurt for you. How long have you been free?”

“Almost 10 years.”

“The Tevinter magisters have long been the source of great misery and strife. From before they martyred our blessed Andraste, from before they used blood magic to defile the Golden City. They are a curse upon our Maker’s creation.” 

“Many mages outside the Imperium are nearly as bad. I’ve met them in battle. I’ve seen the horrors they manifest.”

“Erich wasn’t like that.”

“True. He was not.” Even when the demon had been within him, Anders had been a good, if misguided, man. 

Mina was regarding him gently. “Wil and I have both grown to care for you over the past five months, Fenris. Erich has found his family again. Family is important. You know this; it’s why you sought your sister. I want you to to think of us as your family, now.”

“You... wish to be my family?” He didn’t know what to say, what to think. 

“We’d be proud to be your family.”

“I... I....”

“You are a good man, and we care about you. Now, grab that bowl....”

Hastening to follow her instructions, his mind whirled with what she’d just declared.

“I’m so happy you’ve found Erich. The two of you are a fine match.”

“So it seems.” He couldn’t think of a finer match, in his opinion.

“Isn’t it funny how love can grow out of animosity?”

Fenris choked. “... love...?”

“Don’t play coy. It’s written all over the both of you. Takes more than good sex to put that expression on a man’s face.”

“....”

Mina looked closer, then, and took his hands in hers.

“You don’t even know you’re in love, do you?”

Her touch seemed to unleash his voice. “Slaves aren’t taught love.” _Love?_

“Fenris, you break my heart. Everyone should know love. Tell me, then, what do you feel for Erich?”

What did he feel? How could even think, with all that had been said, so far today? He felt drunk, and off-balance, and confused. He barely understood what he felt. Deciding this was all just a dream, he let his words flow without censorship. 

“I... I...I... feel... I want to be with him, all of the time. I want to talk with him, about everything. I feel warm, here in my chest, when I hold him. His world is my world. His hopes are my hopes. His family... is my family.

“He makes me happy, and makes me sad, and makes me think, and makes me a better person than I ever thought I could be. I never want to be without him. I may not have the first notion of what love is; but, I know that if there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at his side.” 

He felt strange. He’d never shared so much of his private feelings, not even with Anders. 

Mina was smiling brightly at him. “Fenris... you’ve just described love. More perfectly than any song sung by a bard. That is exactly what Wil and I share... and have, for nearly forty years.”

“Oh.” That was love? No wonder entire lives were spent seeking it. “Oh.” He felt something settle in his chest. He was bewildered.

“I’m afraid I’ve rushed you into something you weren’t prepared to confront.”

“No... I’m just... surprised?”

Mina smiled gently. “Love can catch you, that way. You look a bit dazed. Will you be alright?”

“Yes. I think... yes.”

“If it makes you feel any more at ease, it’s pretty clear that Erich feels the same for you.”

Fenris felt his eyes nearly pop from their sockets.

“Oh, poor dear, I’m scaring the daylights out of you.” She pulled him into a hug, which he returned reflexively. Anders loved him? He loved Anders? What did he do, now? What did this mean?

“Fenris, look at me.” He did, seeing the sincerity in her dark blue eyes. “Knowing what word to apply to your feelings doesn’t change anything. You don’t have to confess them, or change what you do. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and feeling what you’re feeling.”

He nodded, taking a few deep breaths. She was right. Nothing had changed. He just had a new understanding of a word. Nothing more.

“I think I’ve frightened you enough for one day. Now. Let’s pick through those berries....”

When Anders and Wil returned in the afternoon, they were both smiling.

“What’s got you so happy?” Fenris asked.

Anders grinned. “It was just a good day. What have you been up to?” Fenris followed him into their hayloft bunk room.

“Baked a cobbler. Traded some friers to Schmidt for some layers. Mended that back fence.” Fenris watched as Anders changed out of his dusty clothes, and into clean ones. He loved watching Anders undress. His hair had grown longer, reaching his shoulders. Mina was teaching him how to plait the sides into two braids, and pull those back. Fenris liked the look. 

“Vati says we’ll harvest the grain in a few weeks.” 

“I know. He’s teaching me to chew the seed.”

“Did you and Mutti talk about anything interesting?”

“Well... she said... that she and Wil... wish to be my family.”

Tying his pants, Anders sat next to Fenris. “Did she?”

“Yes. I... told her about losing my memories. And, about Varania.”

“Did you?”

“She said... I need family. And, that she and Wil... care for me.”

“Did she?”

“Yes. Is that alright with you? That they would consider me family?”

Anders’ smile was blinding. He was pulled into the healer’s arms. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard, Fenris.”

The soft, warm feeling overflowed his chest. Was it love? “I’m glad. Because I want that.”

“Vati was saying today, how attached they’ve grown to you.”

“He was?”

“Yes. He said, he and Mutti hope we will both stay, when winter comes.”

“They do?”

“We’d have to make some sort of arrangements in the next couple months, anyway, before it gets cold. They’re planning to build an extension on the cottage, so we can have an apartment attached to the house.”

“They are?”

“Yes. For just the winter, if we want. Or, if we’re willing, they’d like us to stay permanently. To make a home, here.”

“They would?”

“Yes. I said I would need to talk to you. You didn’t plan to stay forever. You have a life in Kirkwall. You have friends there. I know you’ve enjoyed working on the farm, and have made some good connections with people; but, that’s not the same as wanting to always live here.”

“I want that.” He did. He knew. He wanted it. He burned with wanting it. A family, a home, Anders.

“You’re sure? You want to leave the city behind? Our friends? Being a warrior? This is your life we’re talking about. It isn’t a decision to be made lightly.”

“Did you make it lightly?”

“No. I’ve wanted this since I was a boy. Now that I’m back, I know that I still want it. I want to live where my roots are. I want to work the farm with my parents. I want to be a healer for the Village. I want to do this with you, but if it doesn’t appeal to you, we can figure something out. Maybe, a half year here, and a half year in Kirkwall... something. I want it all, is the crux of my speech. But, I want you to be happy.”

“I want to stay.”

“You don’t need to think about it?”

“No.” He was happy shucking off his old life. In one day, he’d been offered a family, a home, a life with the man he l--with Anders. How could he say no?

Anders was burying his face in his neck, taking shuddering breaths. “Tell me now, if you don’t really want this, Fenris.”

“I want it like I want air.”

Anders pulled him impossibly tight. Fenris inhaled, smelling Anders’ warm, sunshine scent, the faint, good smell of horse, the sweet smell of hay.

After a moment, he let him go, and gazed at him with adoration. “We’ll tell Vati and Mutti at supper.”

Supper was like a dream. Had this whole day been a dream? Was he wanted? Cared for? Worthy? 

There had been other times in Fenris’ life, when he was sure he was dreaming. When life had been so good, he knew it couldn’t be real. And, he suddenly realized... it hadn’t been real. None of those other times. Not once.

The first time was with the Fog Warriors, when he’d also been wanted, and welcomed, and he’d been happy. And, with a single command from his master, he’d betrayed them, and himself, and had lived with the regret the rest of his life.

Then, the moment Hawke had kissed him, and made him believe he was wanted, and cared for, and worthy.... only to leave him confused and hurt, and humiliated. 

Then, when he’d learned he had family, and he’d reached out for her, and she came to him, and he believed he was wanted, worthy, no longer alone. And, his own sister, his only family, had betrayed him; horribly, nightmarishly, leaving him once again alone and hurting.

But, then, Anders came into his mansion, and into his life. He began to feel wanted, cared for, worthy. When he’d realized Anders was his friend. When he’d kissed Anders. When Anders asked him to come to Ferelden. This very day, when Anders’ family became his family, and asked them to stay.

Suddenly, Fenris was terrified. 

Something terrible was going to happen. Good things didn’t happen to Fenris, and there had been too many good things. The moment they’d told Wil and Mina that he and Anders would stay, he’d begun quaking with fear. The moment those happy words came out of Anders’ mouth, and his parents had smiled and spoken happy words in return, and hugged them both, Fenris had wanted to run. Run, before someone or something took it all away. 

He was a slave, scarred and defiled by a madman. If he stayed, someone would realize he was deficient, and unworthy to live in that happy home. Fenris had never been loved, before. If he told Anders what he felt, Anders would surely mock him, tell him he wasn’t good enough, leave him. Fenris couldn’t bear it. It would kill him.

It was all going to come crashing down, all of it, and he would once again be hurt, humiliated, and betrayed. Because that’s what always happened. That’s what the Maker planned for him, every time.

He knelt through the singing of the Chant, his heart palpitating, his brain in a fog. In their bed, he pleasured Anders with all the skill he possessed. He committed him to memory; his sounds, smell, taste, feel. He brought him to an explosive climax, held him as he recovered, tried to express his feelings for the healer through osmosis alone, holding him so tightly he imagined they became one. He held Anders as he slept, carding his fingers through the soft tresses, breathing him. 

In the early hours of morning, he slipped out of bed. Quietly, he strapped on his armor, put his sword on his back, and stood gazing at the only man he’d ever loved... would ever love. Then, silently, as the well-trained weapon he was, he turned, and walked into the sleeping dawn. He left all that he’d ever wanted, all that was being offered, behind. 

Before it could leave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Anders and his father...
> 
> Because they love each other does not mean they must agree with everything the other believes. People can agree to disagree, even about things that are extremely important to them. I find it happens most often with family members. Sometimes the love is too strong to simply alienate or disown people for having opposite views. It doesn't mean it's easy, necessarily; and it doesn't mean it's an abusive relationship. It's a deliberate choice to accept and love them, despite the differences.
> 
> Anders made his statement, Wil heard it, they do not agree, _and_ they both want to maintain their relationship. 
> 
> Now, Fenris...
> 
> OMG.


	22. Wil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wil's history plays a large part in his understanding of magic, his son, and a lost elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the original edition of this chapter caused concern and upset in some readers. This revision lends more detail to Wil and Schmidt's conversation on the steppes, and Wil's spiritual state in years to follow.

Wil watched his son struggle through his emotions. His expressive face betrayed all that was in him; he’d been this way as a boy, and he was still this way as an adult. It was Mina’s side of him. He had grown from a child who felt deeply, into a man who felt deeply. And, right now, he was feeling pain.

Mina was beside him, trying to console him. She reassured him that Fenris was fine, that they’d find him, that it was something that could be worked through. Wil agreed with all she said. He was certain everything could be set right, and the two men reunited. If only they could find the elf.

Initially, they’d thought Fenris had just awakened early, and gone to work in one of the fields. It wasn’t until lunch that they realized he wasn’t on the property. It wasn’t until afternoon that they discovered he wasn’t on any of the neighboring farms. That was when Erich saw that Fenris’ armor, blade and pack were missing. He’d left, of his own will, sometime after they’d gone to sleep.

Erich and Wil had both taken mounts and ridden them hard, up the roads and paths, along the fields, searching. Wherever Fenris had gone, he’d gone there quickly. There was no sign of him. Erich fretted that if Fenris didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. They’d gone on too many missions together to delude himself. Wil didn’t doubt it. Now, it was nearing dark, and they were growing more concerned that if much more time passed, they wouldn’t be able to find him at all.

Erich spoke to his mother with a broken voice. “I don’t know, Mutti, I just don’t know. He was so happy, last night. He wanted to stay here. He said it, Mutti. He wanted to live here, and....” as he lost his words, Mina pulled him to her, and met Wil’s gaze over his head. She was as heartbroken as her son, as heartbroken as Wil. 

Watching his son in pain was nearly unbearable. From the time he’d been born, to the time the templars had taken him away, Wil could not stand in the face of Erich’s sadness. Watching him walk away, a mere boy of twelve, had nearly killed him. If he hadn’t feared for his safety so much, if he hadn’t feared what further punishment would come down on his son if Wil didn’t send him away, he might have given in to Mina’s pleading. But, after the barn had caught fire, and word got out that Erich possessed magic, there was no other way around it.

And then, he came home. After twenty-four years of not knowing; not knowing if he was alive, not knowing if he was still at the Circle, not knowing if he was happy and well, not knowing if they would ever stop missing him every blessed day... he was home. He was home, and their life had meaning again, was full and complete. And, not only had he brought himself back into their lives, but his partner as well. A man as respectable and impressive as any Wil had known. Suddenly, their lonely home burst with life, with laughter, with family. Wil was certain the Maker had forgiven his sins, and sent his son back to them as proof. 

That elf who came with him, so mysterious and aloof, had wormed his way into their hearts. Wil had been skeptical of him, at first. His armor and manner bore the look of a Tevinter origin. Yet, he was no mage; and a non-mage in Tevinter was as good as a slave, regardless of status. He suspected a story lay behind that hooded gaze.

What impressed Wil first was Fenris’ clear devotion to Erich. His eyes rarely left him, watching as he talked, worked, ate. His expression wasn’t always easy to read, but his attachment was clear. His initial conversations with Wil and Mina had all been questions about Erich’s childhood, Erich’s preferences, Erich’s experiences. His son’s affection for the elf had been just as clear. They were bonded, that much was apparent.

Over time, as Wil and Mina got to know their son, again, they also got to know Fenris. It wasn’t as easy. Erich, so like Mina in personality, was virtually transparent. He spilled his life, his opinions, his emotions like a waterfall. Hearing his easy, open chatter at the table in the mornings... ah, that had been a balm like no other for his parents’ souls. But, Fenris... now, there was a tough nut to crack. 

But, this, as they say, was not Wil’s first dance. He’d spent his life reading people’s faces, watching for the overlooked, listening for what went unsaid. He’d always been quiet and observant, even as a young boy. He’d preferred to sit back and watch events unfold, watch as people displayed themselves. Most folks believe communication happens with the mouth, and the odd gesture and expression for emphasis. Wil discovered early that people’s words were not to be trusted. Even those who were not malicious in intent would speak falsehoods, for many reasons; to protect themselves, protect others, hide their shame. He learned to look for the real story in people’s bodies; the subtle movements and expressions that go unnoticed. Words might lie, the body could not.

What the elf’s body told Wil, was that Fenris carried layers upon layers of hidden pain. He hid that pain behind his stoic bearing and formal manner, maintaining distance from others to protect himself from more pain.

“What happened, Mutti, when you were together, today? Did he say anything?”

“He talked about losing his memories when he was given those markings. He talked about his sister betraying him. He talked mostly about you, sweetheart. How much he cares for you, how much you mean to him. He said he wants a future with you.”

“Fenris said that? But, he’s never even said those things to me.”

“I don’t think he knew he felt them. He cares so much for you.”

“But... if that’s true, why would he leave me?” 

Because he’s scared to death, Wil thought. 

Wil had been surprised to find he had so much in common with the elf. Both bore an active contempt for the Tevinter Imperium. Both distrusted mages, to a fault. Both preferred to listen rather than speak. And, of course, both wanted nothing more than Erich’s happiness. 

It was in later months of his coming to their home that Wil clued-in to more of Fenris’ past. As time went by, and he became more comfortable with Wil and Mina, the elf spoke more freely. Off-hand comments regarding his past told a terrible story. All magisters were corrupt, that was a given, but the kind of man who would turn a person into a living weapon, using an experimental procedure that had already killed several others... that kind of monster was capable of anything. 

And, watching Fenris anytime his former master was mentioned, told the rest of the story. The way his head bowed slightly, the way his arms found ways to cross in front of him, the darting of his eyes, the clenched jaw... Wil had seen it before.

For, Wil had not been his father’s son. An apostate mage, on the run through the Anderfels toward Tevinter and freedom, had come across his mother early in her marriage. Hunting alone for nugs, she’d been easy prey. Using his filthy blood magic, he’d compelled her to lie with him against her will, used her terribly for an afternoon, and from that barbarity, Wil had been conceived. 

Although he’d been loved and cherished, a son to be welcomed in the harsh life of the Anderfel steppes, the trauma had left his mother scarred for the rest of her life. She’d never been the same, his father said, never regained her trust in people, never overcame her hatred of magic and mages. She would be forever fearful, blaming herself, believing herself defiled and unworthy. 

Wil saw this same fear in Fenris. Saw the same attempts to protect himself from the abuse of the past. He sometimes saw the same empathetic pain in Erich’s eyes when he watched Fenris, as he’d seen in his own father’s. He knew, without it being said, that Fenris had suffered the same fate Wil’s mother had, at the hands of his master, for Maker only knew how long. 

Wil had loved his mother, dearly. She adored him in return, and made sure he learned all he needed to survive and succeed in the harsh Anderfels environment. He’d been trained by his father with the quarter-staff; trained by his mother to hunt; learned the dangers of living in such close association with blighted country and darkspawn.

When he was still a boy, he learned those dangers in the most terrible way possible. His mother was stricken with the blight. Wil had watched as the corruption took its hold, and grieved deeply when his father gave her the merciful death she requested.

He and his father lived with the pain of her loss. Growing toward puberty, Wil learned the circumstances of his conception. Horrified at what had been done to his mother, a rage began to fill him. Not only had a filthy bloodmage attacked his mother, but the Blight, brought about by ancient Tevinter magisters, had killed her. 

His young mind, flailing with the grief of his mother’s death, traumatized by the knowledge of his own conception, turned his pain and horror into anger. And, that anger had only one outlet; mages represented all that was evil in the world. Even darkspawn, foul and corrupt as they were, were simply mindless, soulless beasts. Mages had minds, had the ability to choose the acts they did. And, those that came to the Anderfels were apostates, running to Tevinter, to learn more blood magic, and perform more atrocities. 

Wil, only thirteen years old, began to put his anger into action. Many runaway mages crossed over the Blasted Hills and through the Anderfels on their way to Tevinter. Certainly none were traveling to Hossberg. The Circle there housed not only templars, but Grey Wardens. Any apostate in the capital city was quickly found. Some made for the steppes, some for the Blightlands. No templar, even from the Hossberg Circle, followed them there. The Blightlands were certain death. 

Wil made sure of that. 

His pain took him on a path into a very dark place. He became a vigilante. Every few months, the rumor of an apostate in the region found their little village, and he went hunting. His father assumed he hunted nugs, or fennecs, or grouse. Wil had only one prey; he hunted mages. He couldn’t risk templars catching them, and letting them live. Whether in the Blightlands or on the steppes, he hunted them, found them, and killed them. 

The younger mages, with no battle training, and too trusting of a young boy, were easy. The older ones were seasoned, and some were perfectly willing to use blood magic and demons to fight their battles. Even that presented no problem for young Wil. He was not above killing them as they slept. Twice, when he couldn’t get past their magical traps, he’d led darkspawn scouting parties toward his prey, and let them do the fighting. By any means possible, he took revenge on all bloodmages; the one who’d raped his mother; the ancient ones who’d defiled the Golden City; and all those that had not yet used blood magic, but with enough time, certainly would. 

Until the day Schmidt came upon him. The young man, just returned from serving as an archer with the Green Men in the Wandering Hills, was a legend among their people, even at his young age. He was one of those men whom the Maker gifted with an abundance of all that was manly. He was as renowned with women as with his weapon. He was unequalled as a tracker, a hunter, a fighter. He was, as the people said, a true _mensch_. He was also astute, and aware of those around him. Schmidt had noticed the pattern in Wil’s hunting forays. A mage was in the area, Wil went hunting, and returned empty-handed. It didn’t take a scholar to figure it out. 

Wil, not yet fifteen, had just killed his eighth victim on the open grassland. Schmidt approached him unflinchingly, the body of the mage lying in the grass between them. He jerked his head, and turned to leave, knowing Wil would follow. Walking him back to his camp, the young archer spoke frankly. He respected the pain Wil felt for his mother. He understood that he wanted to avenge her. But, Wil needed to understand that all people were the children of the Maker; even those gifted with magic. Killing them without cause was a sin against the Maker’s commandments.

Wil had argued. Mages were the curse of Thedas. His mother’s rape, the Blight, all the work of mages. They ran to Tevinter, and everyone knew what they would become, there. It was Tevinter mages who had killed Blessed Andraste. The Maker had cursed them with magic. The only good mage, was a dead mage.

Schmidt listened. He simply repeated that mages were also the Maker’s children. They went around and around in just this fashion until Wil had worked himself into a fit of anger. Finally lashing out, he began striking at the archer with his fists. Schmidt took the beating, and let the boy pummel him until he’d finally collapsed, sobbing. Then, Schmidt began to speak. 

Wil’s mother would not have desired her son to carry so fearsome a burden as the hate in his heart. He’d recited the Canticle of Maferath;

_“Spite ate away all that was good, kind,_  
_and loving till nothing was left but the_  
_spite itself, coiled ‘round my heart like a_  
_great worm.”_

Wil would lose all the good that his mother had passed on to him in her life, if he allowed his anger and spite to grow unchecked. He must not become a legacy of hatred. 

“The pain inside you has been perverted into a murderous hate so fearsome, you know nothing else. It will kill you, just as you’ve killed those mages.”

Wil, cheeks wet with tears, had countered; 

_“Foul and corrupt are they_  
_Who have taken His gift_  
_And turned it against His children._  
_They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones._  
_They shall find no rest in this world_  
_or beyond._

“They are maleficarum, and I am administering justice on behalf of my mother, and every person they have harmed.”

Schmidt had nodded. “A bloodmage is an evil not to be borne, it’s true. Yet, how many of your victims have been bloodmages? How many actually used blood magic in their own defense?”

Wil glared at the archer through damp eyes. “It doesn’t matter. They would have, eventually.”

“You don’t know that. Are you the Maker’s equal, that you know the hearts of all men?”

“No! No one is as great as the Maker. But, the Chant tells of his hatred for blood mages.”

“Do you believe in the Chant, then?”

“With all of my heart. My mother taught me the Chant, and to honor the Maker and His Bride.”

“Recite the next verse, Wil.”

_“All men are the Work of our Maker’s Hands,_  
_From the lowest slaves_  
_To the highest kings._  
_Those who bring harm_  
_Without provocation to the least of His children_  
_Are hated and accursed by the Maker.”_

“If you wished to kill the mage who attacked your mother, I would gladly help. If you knew without doubt that a mage was using blood magic, I would even understand your justice there. But, Wil, you are murdering innocents in your drive to destroy the pain in your heart. You will bring down the Maker’s wrath upon yourself.”

Wil’s obstinate resolve began to break. His chin quivered as Schmidt continued.

“You came from a good woman. She was devout, and loving; a good wife and mother. Yet, if not for the attack she suffered, you’d have never been. She’d have never had the joy of her son. You have the potential to grow into a fine man, Wil. A man your mother would be proud of. A man people will respect. But, right now, you’re on the path to become hated and accursed by the Maker. Is that what she would have wanted? Is that what _you_ want?”

Before the anger that had driven him for nearly two years, Wil had always been a sensitive and loving boy. He worshipped the Maker with devotion, and honored his mother’s teachings. Tears began flowing down the boy’s face. “No... I just wanted... to make it better....” he sobbed. “Why did the Maker let it happen? I’d rather not be born than for her to have been hurt.” 

Schmidt shook his head. “I don’t know. The Maker works in ways we cannot understand. And, it’s not always in ways that are comfortable, or even bearable. It’s not ours to question His way, but to learn from it.”

“I don’t want the Maker to hate me....” he’d wailed. He’d lost his mother. He didn’t want to lose the Maker, too. 

“Then, pray for His forgiveness. Repent your sins. Atone where you can. Be the man you want to be, not the man that hate will make you.”

He’d taken him back to the body of Wil’s final victim. Together they gave the unknown mage a cremation; Wil weeping as they committed the body to the flames. 

Schmidt sat with Wil, that night, and prayed for his guidance and forgiveness. They became friends, a friendship Wil relied upon heavily over the years as he set aside his hate, and found his way to the Maker. As he grew older, his understanding of his actions evolved. He wept, not for himself, but for those he’d killed. 

The faces of eight mages crossed through his mind’s eye, each night, as clearly as though no time had passed. Faces that brought sorrow to his heart, and fervent prayers to his lips. Although he would never lose his distrust for mages, would never accept that magic was not a curse; he sought forgiveness from the Maker, and from the memory of those he’d killed, every night thereafter. 

Shortly after their meeting on the steppes, Wil and his father joined the group leaving the Anderfels for gentler lands. Schmidt, with his new wife and baby, came as well. Leaving the stark, harsh environment had been a blessing for Wil. In the bosom of a country so fruitful and favored, his heart softened. In time, Mina brought laughter and joy into his life, and a beautiful, golden, baby boy.

Years later, when this child, his beloved son, manifested magic, he had despaired. It was his own fault, for two reasons; his blood carried the magic of his bloodmage sire. But, worse, he knew in his heart that it was punishment for his crimes. What more fitting justice for the wrongs he’d committed against those mages, than to lose his own child to magic? It had broken his heart, knowing he was the cause of the curse that was laid upon Erich. Losing his son had been the worst day of Wil’s life. An unrelenting pain that had continued until Erich walked back through their door, last spring.

Now, he looked on as his wife tried to console this boy of his. The one he hadn’t been able to help when chains were locked about his wrists, and he was dragged into a frightening, unknown future. Watching his son’s agony, he knew he had to find a way to fix this. And, not just for Erich. Another man was out there, right now, flailing against a lifetime of pain. A man who had suffered at the hands of an evil Tevinter magister, and bore the mark of that evil in his very skin. A man feeling a fear so powerful it had torn him from those who cared for him, and sent him running into the darkness.

“We were happy together... why didn’t he tell me if something was wrong? There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help him, whatever it was. Why didn’t he talk to me? Why did he run from me?”

Wil finally spoke. “He didn’t run from you, son. He’s running from himself. He has unimaginable fear inside of him, and it’s pushing him as fast and far as he can go.”

Erich looked confused. “But, why?”

“You’ll need to ask him that. I’m going for Schmidt. He’ll find him. Don’t worry. We’ll bring Fenris home.”

There was a full moon and a clear sky. With lanterns and horses, the three men carefully searched the paths around the farm for signs of Fenris’ passing. Anders thought he might be heading for the nearest port, to return to what was familiar, Kirkwall. That narrowed their search radius. Finally, Schmidt found what he was sure were recent tracks, and they headed out. 

The moon was at its apex when they came to an old, abandoned barn off of a seldom-used trail.

“He’s in there,” Schmidt asserted. “Go on in, young Erich, and wrangle that elf.”

Anders looked to his father for reassurance. 

“Talk to him, son. Take your time. Schmidt and I are fine, waiting out here.” 

Taking a deep breath, Anders dismounted, took a lantern, and went to find his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head canon of Wil (which I suppose is the only canon there is for my own OC), he developed his ability to read people by growing up with his mother. Her pain, never gone, but often hidden, sensitized him to seeing what lies beneath.
> 
> Sometimes, people do terrible things, for a variety of reasons. And, sometimes, they regret those things, deeply. Wil's regret is sincere.


	23. Broken Dam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Anders catches up with Fenris.

The barn had only one working door, and going through it, Anders immediately found what he was looking for. Fenris didn’t run, he didn’t even move, as he approached him. He sat motionless with his back against the wall, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“Go home, Anders.” His voice was hollow. “Let me leave.”

Anders shook his head. “It’s not home if you’re not there. I’ll go with you, but, please, don’t leave me behind.”

“It’s inevitable. Sooner or later, you’ll leave me, anyway. Somehow or another, I’ll lose everything. I always do. Better I do it, now, than wait until....”

Anders knelt in front of the elf, and took his limp hands into his own. “Until what, Fenris?”

“You’ve seen my life, happiness isn’t my lot. If I stay, it’s only a matter of time before it all comes crashing down. Every good thing that’s ever happened to me has ended in pain and humiliation and betrayal. I’m not worthy of you or your family. You’ll all see this, soon enough, and then... then....”

“Then...?” Anders whispered.

Fenris struggled, his words halting. "It’ll all be taken away... it always is... I don’t... I don’t get... you deserve so much better... I’m not even a whole man.... I’m just... just... a scarred and damaged slave... I don’t deserve... oh, Maker... you’re offering me the world, and I want it, I want it so much....” 

With his final declaration, Fenris broke down and wept. Deep, ragged sobs shook his body, tears coursed down his face. Anders pulled him, unresisting, onto his lap, and held him. Fenris’ arms encircled him in a death grip. 

After a time, he grew concerned at how long Fenris wept. His tunic was soaked with the elf’s tears. Fenris was bestrode his lap, cheek atop his shoulder, sobbing with rib-cracking force. He'd never heard such a powerful lament. 

Then, it occurred to him; this may well be the first time Fenris had ever allowed himself to weep. Perhaps tears, like pleasure, had simply been denied to him. Anders held him, rocking him as he would a child. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

When this caused more forceful sobs, he simply held him tighter. “It’s alright, Fenris. Let it all go. Beautiful, wonderful, elf. I’ll stay with you through it all.”

In time, the tears abated. He hiccuped and sniffled to a stop, breath rasping. He didn’t move; just leaned as he was against Anders, face buried in his shoulder, breathing brokenly. 

“I think you needed that,” Anders said softly, hands gliding along his back in gentle motions. “Have you ever cried, before?”

In a raw, soft voice, Fenris answered. “No.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Why?”

“Because we need to cry. We need to release feelings. You had a lot inside you. Don’t you feel a little better, now?”

“No. My head hurts, and my nose is stuffed-up, and my face is lying in my own drool and snot.”

Anders couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. “Yeah... crying’s not always pretty.”

Fenris gave a deep sigh, and sat up, pulling up the hem of Anders’ tunic to wipe his face and nose.

“Oh... thanks,” Anders said wryly.

“Anders... why did you come after me?”

“Because you’re hurting. Because something scared you off, and I couldn’t let you leave, like that. You’re wrong, you know. So, so wrong.”

“About what?”

“Where do I begin? Fenris, you’re a good man. A beautiful man. You’ve lost so much, and gained so little, in your life. The Maker is with you. I know you don’t always see that, but He is. He sent you here for a reason, and it’s not just to lead me on my own path. Did it never occur to you that our paths are one and the same? That we were both meant to be here?”

“No. I understood that I was your guide.”

“I believe you are. I think I might be yours, too. I’m not going to pretend to know the Maker’s plans, or tell you what’s in your own heart. But, you said you were happy here.”

“I am.”

“You’ve enjoyed the people of the Village, and the farm?”

“Very much.”

“My parents adore you, on your own merit. They care about you. They want you to live in their home, and make it your home. Mutti was in tears when you left.”

“I’m sorry I upset everyone....”

“No, no, that’s not it. They hurt for you, not because of you.”

This seemed to catch the elf off-guard. “Oh.”

“You ran because things are going so good, because you’re so happy, that you’re sure it can’t be real. Am I right?”

“Yes. Good things don’t happen to me, except to set me up for a fall. The Maker... I don’t trust Him. This is a trick of His, I know it.”

“Fenris, I know terrible things have happened to you. I know people have betrayed you. But, good things _can_ happen. You are entitled to them, and they are being offered to you with both hands. I know it’s asking a lot, but trust this.”

Fenris’ voice was rough with emotion. “I’m broken, Anders. I didn’t even know what love is. Your mother had to tell me.”

“How could you know what love is, when you’d never been shown?” 

“Anders... do you love me?”

“Fenris, I love you so much, I can barely breathe.”

He wept again.

“Please come home. Let good things happen. Let people appreciate you for the wonder that you are. Let the Maker bless you with all that you deserve.”

Fenris nodded, tears falling unabated. In time, they were able to pull themselves together, and get up off of the floor.

“How did you find me?” Fenris asked, his voice still raw.

“Schmidt tracked you.”

“He’s a good man, Schmidt is. We could all aspire to be like him.”

“We could all aspire to be like you.” He drew Fenris to him, and kissed his lips, chapped and salty from his tears. 

As they approached the waiting men outside, Wil came forward and pulled Fenris into a warm embrace. Fenris’ tears began, again. Anders couldn’t hear what his father said, but he held the elf for several minutes, speaking earnestly into his ear. Fenris was nodding, weeping, as he listened. 

Finally letting the elf go, Wil clapped both of his shoulders. “Alright?”

Fenris nodded. He turned then, and saw Schmidt sitting in his saddle, leaning casually on the pommel with a smoking pipe held between his teeth.

“Schmidt... thank you for finding me. I’m sorry....”

 _“Nein, nein,_ no apologies. It was my pleasure. We’ll not let a _mensch_ such as yourself go so easily.”

Anders rode behind Fenris on their horse, holding him tightly. On the long ride home, Fenris lapsed into tears several more times.

“Are you sure you’re alright with going home?” Anders asked.

Fenris nodded, sniffling. “I don’t know why this keeps happening.”

“I think you’re past due, love. You have a lot to let out.”

A new freshet began. “I like you calling me that....” he confessed through his tears.

“You’re going to hear it a lot, love.”

Mina met them in the yard, pulling Fenris into a fierce embrace, and both dissolved into tears.

“Mina... I’m sorry....”

“No, don’t you dare be sorry. Just come home, come in, and let’s get you warmed up.”

“It’s not cold out,” Anders pointed out.

“Hush. Help your father with the horses, and then come get something to eat. No one’s had supper, and it’s past midnight.”

When Anders and Wil came in the house, she had Fenris on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a mug of hot, spiced cider in his hand, and a bowl of fish stew at his elbow. Each time Mina passed by him as she bustled about, she hugged him from behind, and kissed his cheek or hair. Fenris’ bewildered gaze caught Anders’ eyes. Anders smirked. “I believe I once told you this would happen.”

“It never occurred to me that it actually could.” Although he looked a bit surprised, Anders noted it didn’t stop the elf from accepting another bowl of stew when he’d devoured the first. Anders held back a smile; Fenris didn't normally like fish, but he was always greedy for Mina's cooking.

Helping himself to a bowl, he remarked, “I think you need to get it clearly into your head that things you never thought could happen, can.”

Wil nodded. “All things are possible with the Maker.”

After they’d refreshed themselves, the long, emotional day took its toll. Kneeling to sing the Chant, Anders saw Fenris’ tears fall again as they sang:

 _“My Maker, know my heart;_  
_Take from me a life of sorrow._  
_Lift me from a world of pain._  
_Judge me worthy of Your endless pride._

 _“My Creator, judge me whole;_  
_Find me well within Your grace._  
_Touch me with fire that I be cleansed._  
_Tell me I have sung to Your approval._

 _“O Maker, hear my cry;_  
_Seat me by Your side in death._  
_Make me one within Your glory._  
_And let the world once more see Your_  
_favor._

_“For You are the fire at the heart of the world,_  
_And comfort is only Yours to give.”_

In their bed, Fenris clung to him like a wet shirt. Anders was fine with it, delighted with it, needed it. He pressed gentle kisses to every part of the elf’s face he could reach, slowly covering him with affection.

“I’m sorry, Anders.”

“I know you are.” Kissing his eyelids, the elfy bridge of his nose, his forehead.

“I was... frightened.”

“I understand.” A kiss to his cheek, his temple.

“Can you forgive me?”

Anders pulled away to look into the beseeching eyes. “I can, and I will, if you feel you need it. I don’t think there’s anything that needs forgiven. And, I suspect this isn’t the last time you’re going to feel this fear. You don’t have to commit to staying forever, Fenris, I told you that. Just, stay the winter, or however long you feel comfortable. But, you have to promise me... promise me you’ll talk to me before you run away. Please, please, don’t do that, again. It would kill me to lose you.”

Fenris looked at him solemnly, and nodded. “Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you.”

Anders pulled him back, again, smiling softly when the elf demanded, “Tighter... tighter, Anders.”

He held him as tightly as he could, without suffocating him. He buried his nose into the silky white hair, and inhaled deeply. Dried sweat, road dust, the rotted wood of the abandoned barn. All of it combined into the sweetest of perfumes, because smelling it meant Fenris was back in his arms, again. 

“What did Vati say to you at the barn?”

Fenris was still shaken by the day’s events, his voice cracked and stammering. “He... he said... that I am not diminished by the acts perpetrated against me. That I am not less because someone says I am. That... that... the Maker loves me, and sometimes we aren’t meant to understand His will....”

Anders was quiet, thinking it through. “Is that all?”

“He also said... that... if the Maker had blessed him with a second son... he would have wanted him....” the tears broke through, “... he’d have wanted him... to be me.”

Holding the sobbing elf, Anders felt his heart soar. Oh, Vati. “He said that?” 

Fenris nodded, burying his face in Anders’ neck. 

“That’s wonderful. All of it. And, I want you to believe it, because Vati doesn’t lie, and he doesn’t give false flattery.”

Fenris nodded again, his tears abating, once more. “I’ll try.”

Still holding him in a crushing embrace, Anders sighed with relief. It had been a tumultuous day, for himself as well as for the elf.

“I love you, Fenris. I know it’s hard for you to express your feelings. But, if I don’t say it, I’ll explode.”

Fenris answered with a nod and and a sniffle.

Anders put his mouth to the pointed ear, and whispered. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.” He felt and heard a soft chuckle come from the elf buried in his tear-damp neck. And, he knew Fenris would be alright. That they both would.

In the days following, Fenris continued to break into tears at little provocation. Anders was happy to see it; he knew the elf needed to purge his pain of the past. Mina and Wil were understanding, they both knew pain. Fenris, however, was not pleased with it, at all.

 _“Venhedis,_ this is ridiculous!” Anders handed him his handkerchief, lest the elf make a grab for his tunic, again. “And, disgusting. I didn’t realize crying involved so many fluids.” He blew his nose, scowling at himself. It had been the sunrise. Anders had pointed out the beauty of the sunrise, and Fenris had fallen apart. 

“Beauty evokes emotion,” Anders said. “You’re full of emotion. I can take you back to our room and tell you tragic stories until you can’t cry anymore,” he joked.

Fenris actually stood there and considered it. He shook his head. “If Varric were here, yes. But, you’re not very good at story-telling.”

“Oh, now, that’s just not true, and you know it. People around here ask me to tell stories all the time.”

“Grey Warden stories. Blood, and guts and taint. You know, they practically worship you.”

“Yeah. I kinda don’t like that.”

“When are you going to tell your parents the truth of your leaving the Wardens?”

“Maker, Fenris, I don’t know. I don’t even know how to bring it up. How do you tell your parents you were a death-dealing abomination for seven years? It’ll break their hearts.”

Fenris’ lips began quivering. Anders shook his head. “Again?”

“I’m so glad you lost that demon. You....” and, tears overtook his words. Anders held him until it died out, again.

“Wow. How are you not dehydrated, by now?”

“I want to know where all this snot comes from. Disgusting.”

In time, Fenris ceased leaking all over the farm. Summer harvests were in full-swing, and life was busy. Anders and Mina worked together to preserve the vegetables for winter. All three men joined the round-robin crews to bring in the wheat. Once everyone’s grain was in, a new community-assisted project began.

Between harvests, Wil intended to get the addition put on the cottage. When Wil, Fenris, Anders and Schmidt had discussed the renovation during the harvest, several other neighbors had jumped to offer help. Anders was becoming a community asset; a healer, and a Grey Warden. Fenris was respected, if less well-known. People were excited to make their staying-on as pleasant as possible, which included a comfortable living situation.

For several weeks, people had showed up after their work was done on their own farms, and began renovating the cottage. Women and children often came with the men, and alongside Mina, they made a community supper to eat there. Instruments were brought out, people sang and told stories. It was a joyful, neighborly time. 

Anders was pulled away from the building project for several days by the need to tend to old Olaf. He was finally dying, having hung on for so long by the Maker’s own will, it seemed. Anders stayed with the old man and his caregiver, Nia, for three nights, assuring Olaf had no pain in his last days. Nia had sent word to his daughter, but it was unlikely she would be able to come so far. With a healer and his housekeeper at his bedside, Olaf passed peacefully into the Beyond. His last words to them were to take his prized cheese knife, and use it well. Neither had any idea what he meant.

Word was spread about his passing, and the Council arranged his funeral. A pyre outside the village-proper is where most cremations were held, and that’s where Olaf met the flames. A return letter arrived from his daughter several days later, thanking Nia for her care of the old man, and leaving a substantial portion of his inheritance to the elven woman. She also asked that his belongings be sold or given away.

An auction was held for the household furnishings, farm equipment and stock. Anders and Fenris took ownership of a settee and desk for their new room. Wil and Mina took yet another settee and several area rugs for the expanded living area. As yet, no one in the village and surrounding area considered purchasing the house and property. 

Back at home after caring for the dying man, Anders came out to the build-area after lunch one afternoon, leaving Fenris in the house. The elf had been determined to find the last of a jar of spiced pickles that had been served the night before. His diet had vastly expanded with Mina’s gentle encouragement, without upsetting his neophyte stomach. Now that he’d discovered good food, in a variety never before available to him, Fenris was exploring. At times he put together the oddest, sometimes unappetizing, combinations into snacks, but understanding his history, no one commented. Leaving the elf to hunt up his pickles, Anders walked into the framed extension, and paced it with some surprise.

“Vati, this is huge. We don’t need this much room.”

Wil, on the roof beams with Schmidt, replied. “Two rooms. A living room, and a bedroom at the back.”

“We don’t need a living room.”

“It was Mina’s idea. Two doors between your bed and the rest of the house to muffle the noise.” Hearing this, Schmidt snorted.

Anders scowled. “Oh, for the love of Andraste. That’s ridiculous.”

Wil shook his head. “Son, I’m with your _mutter_ on this one. There’s times I think you’re killing that elf.”

As Schmidt burst into laughter, Fenris strolled out with a spoon of blackberry preserves in one hand, and a spiced pickle in the other. Anders, face flaming with embarrassment, looked at his chosen snack.

“Maker’s breath, Fenris, what are you, pregnant?” Fenris shrugged, biting into the pickle.

“By the sounds of it, he may well be,” Schmidt quipped. He and Wil both roared, their laughter following Anders as he stormed back into the house to accuse his mother of spreading scandalous rumors. 

“Kingsway 9:37

“Dear Varric,

“Hope this letter finds you well and happy. 

“We’ve decided to stay on at my folks’ farm for at least the winter. The entire community has helped in building an expansion of the cottage to accommodate us more comfortably. There’s good people here, Varric. They’ve welcomed us both, and we’re making a place for ourselves among them. 

“Pass on well-wishes to the gang, would you?

“Maker watch over you,

“Anders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Fenris... such a load of pain and fear in his heart. And, if you've ever repressed a lifetime of pain, you know that letting it out is like a fucking torrent.
> 
> And, I really like Schmidt! And, his friendship with Wil. 
> 
> And, Fenris with his unrefined sense of tasty... :-D In the modern world, he'd dip Pork Rinds into Funfetti Frosting.


	24. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris finds happiness in autumn's rush.
> 
> Varric sends disturbing news from home.

Fenris didn’t mind the teasing that was occasionally directed at he and Anders’ sex life. There was no malice in the joking or laughter. And, it was true, they were often quite loud. Some nights, when Anders took particular pains to keep Fenris lingering on the edge of orgasm, his resultant climax could bring him to a howling end. There were times when Fenris would do the same, his mouth tantalizing Anders to the point of full-throated shouts. The teasing actually had a note of admiration to it; whatever they did in bed, apparently they were doing it well. Fenris certainly thought so.

He wasn’t sure why Anders reacted as he did to comments and friendly jokes regarding their activities, but he had a theory. There was no privacy in the Circle. Anders had complained that even too long spent lingering on the toilet could signal a templar to stand in watch as a mage defecated. So, although he wasn’t truly embarrassed by it, Anders’ conditioned response was to take umbrage when their private life was mentioned by others. He was by no means shy about sex. In fact, Anders was more than willing to risk being caught _in flagrante delicto_ out in the hayfield, or in the pond, or behind the barn. 

Despite the teasing and laughter, the cottage addition was finished in quick time. Anders admitted he liked the two rooms after all. Not just for the noise, which both of them admitted was good planning; but, for the healer’s potions. He needed space to prepare and store his tools of trade, and the private living area accommodated that. Fenris also liked that he had a larger, comfortable space of their own. He’d grown accustomed to having the mansion to retreat into. This was the perfect replacement.

As the month of Kingsway wore to a close, Fenris was glad to find his emotional displays did, too. Crying was physically unpleasant. Really, he’d had no idea. It was worse than a head-cold, by far. He rarely contracted illness, but, he’d had a cold, once, shortly after arriving in Kirkwall. It had been dreadful, painful, unacceptable. 

Weeping at the slightest emotion, though... he couldn’t even claim it was an illness. The other three on the farm had been both sympathetic and kind. Mina gave him a stack of handkerchiefs, that he’d stuffed into his tunic. All day long, he’d burst through with tears, and the resultant runny nose. 

Anders, always available with an embrace, or humorous comment, whichever the elf seemed to need, said with a sigh, “It’s like you’re hormonal, or something. The girls in the Circle all ended up with synchronized menstrual cycles. Andraste’s tits, it was a week of bitching and boo-hoo-ing every month. The templars actually put more guards on duty that week. They said the likelihood of a female mage turning abomination was greater when she was on the rag.”

Mina was aghast. “On the rag? Honestly, you didn’t learn that language here, Erich.” The two men were helping her harvest the summer squash from the garden. 

“You’re joking, right? Does this sound familiar from my childhood? ‘Don’t start with me, Erich. I’m on the rag and can’t be held responsible if I kill you.’ Although, I haven’t heard that since I came back. Are you menopausal?”

“Oh, you can’t handle an off-hand remark about sex in my presence, but you can ask about my change of life?”

“I’m a healer, Mutti. Menopause is not the same as my personal sex habits.”

“What is menopause?” Fenris was fascinated by any conversation Anders and Mina had. The topics were wide-ranging and quickly changing. Neither filtered much between each other. He was seeing more and more how like his mother Anders was.

“When women stop getting their monthly flow. Usually around Mutti’s age.”

“Why do they stop?” Frankly, Fenris wasn’t entirely sure why women bled. He knew that they did, and it was related to reproduction. It hadn’t been part of his warrior training, and he’d never found an appropriate person to ask. Women seemed touchy about the subject.

“Because they get old,” Anders replied with a snarky grin. Fenris leaned back to avoid the dirt clod Mina threw at her son.

“I am not _old,_ upstart. I am wise.”

“Yeah, a wise-ass.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

Fenris smirked. Looking at Wil was like seeing an older version of Anders. But, listening to Mina was like hearing one. 

Since his panic and run from the farm, he had grown to appreciate Anders’ parents even more. They were unstintingly accepting of him. Because he’d never had, or remembered, parental influences, he hadn’t understood the importance they could play in a child’s life. Most of Anders’ personality seemed to have been the result of his relationship with his parents. Fenris wondered if his own parents’ influence was instilled in him. 

He was deeply touched by Wil’s words to him after he’d exited the barn. He thought of them throughout each day. Anders’ father seemed to have a much greater understanding of him than Fenris realized. He knew Anders hadn’t told his parents any of his past. Wil’s intuitiveness was simply uncanny. And, that he would have wanted Fenris to be his son... he still reeled from that knowledge. He couldn’t imagine a greater honor. 

All of Ratspitz’ regard of him had given him pause. So many people had come to help during the cottage expansion. He understood that it was commonplace to assist neighbors with such projects, but even Mina commented on the number that had come to help. It had been like a small party, each evening. There were many children, too, coming with their parents. Fenris had seen them, of course, during holidays, and in passing on other farms. Now, the children were up close, and often clustered around Anders. 

The healer seemed to attract the youngsters. His story, as told to them by their parents, was exciting, dashing, and so much more interesting than farming. They clustered about him, and clamored for stories, for descriptions of far-off places, and strange creatures. And, what Fenris found fascinating, was how engaged Anders was with them. 

“So, so... what was the ugliest monster you ever saw?” asked a freckle-faced boy.

“Oh, a Brood Mother, hands-down. There’s nothing nastier than the creature that births darkspawn.” Several nearby oldsters from the Anderfels gave hearty agreement.

“Did you kill it?”

“There’s nothing else to do with a Brood Mother. They’re horrible beasts, and even though they’re mothers, they don’t tell bedtime stories or make cookies. Better appreciate your mama, because you just don’t realize how lucky you are to have one that doesn’t have grey skin and tentacles, and vomit poison.”

 _“Ewwwww!!”_ came the chorus from the gathered children, and a few adults, as well.

“Well, what’s the biggest monster you ever killed?” Asked an older boy.

“A high dragon.” A chorus of ooh’s followed this simple statement. “Their wingspans are more than that field is long. They’re the most dangerous beast in Thedas; breathing fire, and snapping jaws. Their tails could fell a forest of trees. Their screech can make you dizzy, and sometimes it calls their young to attack you, too.”

“How can babies fight?”

“Well, they’re very big babies! The size of horses, with teeth and fire.”

“How did you kill the mama dragon?”

“Not by myself, that’s for sure. A whole party of fighters, and a whole lot of luck. You need archers, and magic, and the best warriors you can find. And, you have to avoid the fire, the jaws, and the tail. Which is a lot harder than it sounds.”

“So, so, so, so... who’s the bestest warrior you ever met?” a young girl asked.

Anders grinned. “I’ve fought with many great warriors. A drunken dwarf who could fell darkspawn with his breath. The Champion of Kirkwall who defeated the Qunari leader in single combat. But, the bestest warrior I ever met was a man so skilled on the battlefield, he was like a blur. You wouldn’t even know he was coming until his blade--or his fist--was in your chest.”

“Who was he?”

“He’s sitting right there,” he said, jerking his head toward Fenris. All eyes turned to him, and he froze where he sat.

One of the boys nudged the little girl who’d asked the question. Hesitatingly, she edged toward Fenris. 

“M-m-m-my papa said you were a slave, and you escaped from Teb-fin-ter, and you killed your old master.”

He saw the courage the little blonde girl was summoning to speak to him. “Yes, all of those things are true.”

The watching children nodded and whispered in awe.

“And... and... my papa says those are made of lyrium,” she said, looking at the markings running down his arms and hands.

  “Your papa spoke the truth.”

“Could I... touch one?”

Fenris nodded, and extended his arm. Carefully, glancing up at him, she pointed one finger, and gently drew it along a thin line on the back of his hand. She grinned up at him, suddenly at ease talking with the fearsome warrior. “It just feels like skin.”

“It does,” he nodded. Suddenly, he was surrounded by the group of children, all examining his markings with their eyes. He looked at Anders in confusion, and received a wink.

When the freckle-faced boy asked if he could touch the markings, as well, he nodded. When the dirty finger made contact with his arm, he activated the lyrium, the markings flared with light. There was a collective squeal, and scramble backwards, followed by awed _‘ooooohs’._ The adults nearby either laughed , or exclaimed in awe as well.

Then, a voice in the startled gaggle of children declared, _“That’s so awesome!”_ Followed by a shouts of, “Do it again!” “Do you glow in the dark?” “Does it hurt?” “He’s like a firefly!” 

Fenris looked at Anders with surprise. Being declared _‘awesome’_ by a ten-year-old was one of the greatest compliments he’d ever received.

Anders grinned at him. “That’s right. You’re my firefly.”

The first night they’d slept in the newly completed expansion, he and Anders had christened it appropriately. Face-to-face, straddled across Anders’ lap, Fenris felt the familiar warmth filling his chest. Was this love, this feeling inside? It was completely different from the feeling caused by the hard shaft stroking slowly within his body. Different, yet, it gave the latter sensation so much more meaning. 

He watched Anders’ face as they moved together. So expressive. So achingly beautiful. He ran his fingers into the loose, shoulder-length hair. Like burnished gold, soft, smelling of sunshine. His honey-colored eyes looked into Fenris’, passion and love mingled in his gaze. The warmth in his chest grew, overflowing. His eyes overflowed, as well.

Anders wiped the tears away, still moving slowly within him. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Fenris nodded, breath coming faster. The warmth in his chest expanded throughout his entire body. He cupped Anders’ face in his palms, gasping as they moved together. Tears trickled slowly down his cheeks, both at odds with, and in harmony with, the pleasure he felt. He didn’t realize the words were going to leave his mouth, until they did.

“I love you.”

Anders’ eyes widened with surprise. “Fenris....?”

“I love you. I know what this feeling is, and I know what that word means. I love you, Anders.”

Anders’ eyes squeezed shut, and he pulled Fenris tightly to him. Suddenly, they were flipped over, Fenris under him as Anders’ body moved over him with deep, desperate thrusts. 

“Fenris... I love you... oh, Maker....”

His cock was hitting Fenris’ sweet spot, pummeling it as he seemed to try to crawl inside the elf. His body began to move to its own rhythm, writhing and undulating against Anders. He lost control of his voice, as he always did, and heard his cries fill their new room. 

Wrapping his arms and legs about the healer, he let the rapture take him. Anders inside of him, on top of him, arms around him. Fists tight in his hair, cock deep in his body, voice in his ears. 

“Tell me when you need my hand....”

He shook with the pleasure, sweat breaking-out as he was taken closer and closer, but never over, not without touch to his shaft. He wanted it to build, to go as high as he could, as high as Anders could take him. Anders... perfect, beautiful Anders....

“N-not yet....” he stuttered. He felt the climb. Felt the coiling within. Felt the sharp pull of climax approaching. He gasped, face pressed against Anders’ neck, held in place by hands in his hair. He didn’t know how Anders could maintain his pace, he was pounding into him, body trembling, yet he showed no signs of stopping. 

Fenris was well beyond his usual completion point. His balls were tight, so tight against his body. His untouched cock throbbed, swollen and nearly painful with need. He was drifting into such extreme pleasure, losing his connection with reality, with everything but the feeling... the feeling... he’d been here, on the edge of ecstasy, forever.... oh... the feeling.....

He exploded. Unbelievable pleasure rocked through him, wave after wave of intense release. He couldn’t draw breath. Everything went black.

Soft lips kissed him, warm breath caressed him. Slowly, he rose out of the cloud he drifted in, and opened his eyes. He was disoriented. Then, he realized he was lying against Anders’ side, his head on the healer’s shoulder. 

A soft, amused voice asked, “Are you with me, again?”

“I must be. What happened?”

Anders chuckled. “You blacked out, love. Nearly took me with you, you lasted so long and came so hard.”

Fenris tried to move, but his limbs weren’t answering his call. He sighed with extraordinary satisfaction. “I feel good.”

With another laugh, Anders replied. “I should imagine so.”

“Did I please you?”

“Oh... Fenris. More than you could ever know.”

They lay in warm afterglow, lost to their own thoughts. Anders’ fingers caressed his arm and shoulder, gliding lightly along his skin. As his own limbs began to function, he let his fingers twirl in the light sprinkling of hair on Anders’ chest. Silky, curling, adorable. He sighed again.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Anders mused.

“I want to stay here. I want to live here, with you and Mina and Wil. I want to make this my home.”

Anders didn’t respond, except to still Fenris’ hand with his own.

“If... that offer still remains....” he added, uncertainly.  

“Oh, Maker, Fenris, of course it does. But... are you sure? This is where things got scary, last time.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t....”

“Sh-sh-sh. No apologies. I just need to know that you truly want this. It’s a complete switch from the rest of your life. Going from warrior to farmer is a big change.”

“Anders, I may be emotionally stunted, but I’m not stupid. I know what I'm trading. I was never given a choice about being a warrior. I’ve fought enough battles. I’m tired of killing, and of death. I’m ready for life. I’m ready for peace. I’m ready for family.” 

He felt the shuddering breath Anders took. “If you run away again, so help me, Fenris....”

“Says the former escape artist.”

“Key word, there: _former.”_

“Well, add it to my title, too. I’m going nowhere without you. And, I don’t want to go anywhere.”

Anders enfolded him in his arms, pressing kisses into his hair. Then, he softly spoke;

 _“I am not alone. Even_  
_As I stumble on the path_  
_With my eyes closed....”_

Fenris finished the verse;

 _“... yet I see_  
_The Light is here.”_

They lay in peace, again, feeling the pattern of their lives weave about them.

“Do you realize,” Anders said, “that this month marks a year since I got the brand?”

“Already? No, I hadn’t realized.”

“A lot’s changed in that year.”

Fenris snorted softly. “There’s an understatement. You’re at peace with what you’ve lost?”

“I miss my healing magic. But, yes, I’m at peace. Look at the bounty the Maker has lavished on me. Fenris, I have never been so happy, in all of my life.”

He raised his head, and pressed a slow, sultry, seductive kiss to Anders’ lips. “Neither have I,” he whispered.

Fenris expected Anders might have some continuing concerns about his decision to stay. When a letter arrived from Varric on the first of Harvestmere, those concerns rose again. Sitting on the porch swing Fenris had built for Mina, he waited as Anders read it through, before reading it aloud. With a heartbroken moan, he dropped his head into his hands.

“What is it?” 

“The Circle... Meredith called for an Annulment. When the templars moved on the mages, they fought back. Hawke and the team fought for them, but Varric says it was a massacre, on both sides. Now the remaining mages have revolted, and many of the templars have left Chantry control to chase the mages down. Grand Cleric Elthina was killed, trying to bring peace. Maker, I knew something like this would happen. _I knew it._ I tried to warn Elthina. I tried to warn Cullen. I tried to warn everyone. Why has no one ever listened to me?”

Fenris lay a consoling hand on his back. “This is not your fault. You did all that could be done.”

“I know. But, it doesn’t stop me from fearing what this will mean. This will have lasting repercussions. This isn’t the end of it.”

“Are you sure you still want to stay in Ferelden?”

“What? Yes, of course. Why?”

“I thought you might want to go back and help the mages.”

Anders sighed. “I admit, the thought crossed my mind. But, no. It’s not that I don’t care, I just don’t know what I could do. Things are worse now than when we left, and I couldn’t do much, then. I want things to change. I want things to get better. But, since I lost Justice, I don’t have that desperate need to be in the middle of it. It was the most important thing in my life, for so long, but now....”

“Other things have become more important?”

“Yes. You. My family. This village. I can help, here. I can make a difference. I don’t think I can do that for the mages. Especially if they’re all running loose. They’ve got their freedom, such as it is. If I tried to walk up to a group of them, now, they’d see me as a potential threat.”

Fenris nodded. “I’m glad to hear this, Anders. I feared you’d wish to return.”

“Do _you_ want to go back to Kirkwall, to help bring order to the chaos?” Fenris could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

“I admit, there’s a part of me that wants to jump up and follow Hawke on his mission to save the world. But, it’s a very small part, and more habit than an actual desire. I’m going to help Wil break-in that two-year old filly. Honestly, I’m more excited about that than I’ve ever been for any battle. And, Satinalia’s in a few weeks. Mina’s making me a new tunic to wear. What’s happening in Kirkwall is important, and tragic, but it just isn’t my problem to fix, this time.”

The light in Anders’ eyes bespoke his understanding... and relief. 

“Does Varric say anything about Hawke, or the rest?”

“Not a lot. They’re all fine. Sebastian is pretty upset about Elthina. Meredith had the red lyrium idol, it turns out. She’d had it forged into a sword. It did scary things, Varric says. In the end, it killed her. Turned her into a statue in the Gallows courtyard. Fitting, really.”

With nothing more they could do but pray for everyone involved, Anders had replied to Varric, asking him to keep him abreast of any further developments. Life went on.

The month of Harvestmere, true to its name, had a final rush of harvest. Fenris felt a pure and honest pride in the part he had played with the bounty. Both field and garden were emptied of produce. All four of those in the cottage participated in the final round of preservation and preparation of the harvest. 

As soon as it grew cold enough that the deep ground of the cellar space stayed frozen, two steers were slaughtered. One was traded to a nearby farm for two pigs, and all the meat was then processed. This also required the help of all four people in the cottage. Some was stored underground to freeze; some was pickled, canned, or dried. Mina made head cheese, sausage, bacon, and salt pork. There were steaks, roasts, and ribs. Some of the meat was sold or traded in the village. Mina brought home cloth and thread to sew clothing during the winter months. The hides were traded for processed leather, and the pig bristles saved for hairbrushes and paint brushes. 

Mina fretted over Fenris. “You’re from Tevinter, you don’t know how cold it gets, here. There’s snow up to your knees, for most of the winter. You’ll need warm clothes and boots.”

“I’ve never worn shoes. My feet don’t get cold like yours.”

Anders spoke. “Fenris, seriously. You’ve never been through a Frostback winter. I know your feet are tough, but ice and snow can cut like glass. And, you’re just as prone to frostbite as any other. Get some boots, just in case. Better to have them, and not need them.”

Finally caving to the majority opinion, he went with Mina to the village cobbler. The man was perceptive, and inventive, and happy for a challenge. In short time, Fenris had a pair of leather-soled, fur-lined, water-resistant boots. The soles and uppers were thin enough that he could feel the contours of the ground, and his feet’s motion wasn’t restricted. Fenris was pleased. The cobbler said that if he rubbed them with tallow every night after he wore them, they should remain nearly water-proof. 

For clothing, both Anders and Fenris traded for pre-made rough wool trousers and tunics; there just wouldn’t be time to sew two men’s winter clothes before the cold set in. They had also traded with a local hunter for furs, and now sat in the late autumn evenings stitching together parkas under Mina’s direction. By the time the cold began in earnest, both would have warm coats to wear.

Now that the gardens and fields lay bedded for winter, and the food was stored and preserved, a time of quiet began. Aside from tending the stock and basic maintenance, the farm slowed. Tools were mended, clothing was made, musical instruments were practiced, crafts and hobbies enjoyed. It was also nearing the time for celebration; and Fenris felt he’d never had more to celebrate, in his life.

“Harvestmere 9:37

“Sebastian,

“I am sorry to hear about Elthina’s death. I know she was important to you. I wish I knew words to say that would help you.

“I am remaining in Ferelden, with Anders and his parents. They are good people, and worship the Maker faithfully. I am happy, here.

“Find strength in your faith, Sebastian. I hope you find happiness, as well.

“Fenris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's game canon that Meredith had already requested permission for an Annulment of the Gallows, prior to Anders' bomb going off. So, that's what happened here, since there was (obviously) no bomb.


	25. Party Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Satinalia celebration holds a few surprises, and a lot of entertainment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Ander:
> 
> Ach, nein = oh, no
> 
> Und, ich mag das = And, I like it
> 
> Meine Mina = My Mina

Satinalia was approaching, and the house was filled with laughter and preparation. It was a weeklong event, and called for feasts, masks, and a dance. Mina and Wil had a variety of masks from so many years celebrating the event. Carrying a storage box down a ladder from the ceiling rafters, Anders found some of the masks he’d worn as a child.

“Look at this one... I tried to make a Qunari mask and horns. Had never seen one, in my life.” The mask had one eye in the middle of the forehead, and two small deer antlers on the sides.

“You saw plenty later. Make one for next year.” Fenris suggested. He was sitting still as Mina tied a mask about his head. “Why the masks? Is this an Orlesian holiday?” 

“I’m not sure where it originated,” Mina said. “It’s a good holiday, letting people celebrate the end of the growing season, and let off some steam from the work of the harvest. The children love it. Part of the celebration is a parade for children to show-off the masks they’ve made. There’s also a parade for adults to show their masks. Each year, the Council picks a mask to win an award. Some are very funny, and some are simply beautiful.”

Anders had tied on a mask of grouse feathers, and was digging through the box for others. “Remember that mask Isabela brought back from Orlais?” he asked Fenris. “Two breasts with eyeholes in the nipples.”

Mina laughed. “No!”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “It was covered in gold foil, and had a phallus for the nose.”

Laughing harder, she asked, “Flaccid, or erect?”

“Mutti!” Anders was caught between laughter and horror.

“You brought it up, sweetheart. No pun intended.”

“You’re terrible!” he laughed. 

“Erect,” Fenris said. “Very life-like.”

“I’d win the contest if I wore something like that,” she mused. 

“I don’t know how I’d feel about my mother parading through the village with a penis on her nose.”

“There’s not enough time to make one, anyway.”

“Thank the Maker for small favors.”

Wil entered the room. “Thank the Maker for all favors. Which are you thanking Him for?”

“That Mutti doesn’t have time to make a breast and penis mask.”

Wil looked thoughtful. “That would probably win the contest.”

“When did you two turn into teenagers?”

“About forty years ago, son. Your mother never grew out of it. I just revisit, now and then.”

“Anders, you’re just as bad as your parents, on any given day.”

“Yeah, but they’re my parents. They’re supposed to be appropriate, and parental, and....”

“Boring,” Mina finished.

“Grown-up.”

“Oh, who says? I’m not a Chantry sister, Erich. One of the Maker’s greatest gifts is laughter. And, if you can’t make yourself laugh, who can?”

“Hopefully, I can,” Wil said, coming to claim a kiss from his wife.

Anders and Fenris watched their interaction, smiling at each other. Anders wished he and Fenris could have as long together as his parents. But, with the Grey Warden taint, he’d be lucky if he lived another twenty years, max. He hadn’t told Fenris this, nor his parents. It would only serve to upset them. There was nothing that could be done about it. And, really, when he thought about it, there was no guarantee both of them would live to his Calling, regardless. Life was uncertain, and many people died relatively young.

“Just know, you’ll be modeling for me to make that mask, love,” Mina said to Wil. She adjusted the mask on the elf’s face. “Fenris, you look handsome.”

“How can I look handsome, when my face is hidden?”

“He’s kind of literal, Mutti. And, it wasn’t just male parts on the mask, you know.”

“Well, modeling for myself isn’t nearly as fun as your father doing it.”

Anders thought Fenris was thoroughly enjoying the celebration. Each night, they wore a different mask. On two nights, Mina helped the elf to dress in complete concealment; a scarf, hat, mask, long sleeves, gloves... none of his markings showed. With his ears and hair covered, wearing the mask, he became completely anonymous. Fenris said it felt strangely liberating.

Watching the children’s parade was far more entertaining than he’d thought it would be, because of Fenris’ reaction. The elf had never been around children until recently. Danarius apparently had none, and though there were child slaves on the estate, Fenris said he hadn’t interacted with them. The parade had children of all ages; toddlers holding the hands of the parents, adolescents, and every age in-between.

Mutti made much ado of them, oohing and ahhing. Most of the women were, and some men included. It was hard to see Fenris’ expression behind the mask he wore.

Fenris wondered about Anders’ reaction, too. “Are you beguiled by the children, as well?” he asked.

“Beguiled? If they were my own, sure. But, have a hundred puke on you in the clinic over the years, the shine wears off.”

“They are not like... people,” Fenris mussed.

He snorted. “That’s just what Cullen said about mages. And, just as wrong. Kids are people, they’re just... in-progress.”

“No. I’ve been watching them, and listening to them. They don’t think right. They do things that are... odd.”

Anders shook his head, laughing. “They’re just being kids. They haven’t figured life out, yet. They’re learning to operate in society, and how to relate to others. The real little ones are just trying to figure out how all their parts work.”

Fenris grunted. “They don’t make sense. Whiny, egocentric, illogical... I don’t understand them.”

“Well, don’t tell Mutti that. I think she still has hopes one of us will shoot a baby out our arse. She’s got grandkids on the brain.”

“Is that a true affliction?”

“For mothers, it is.”

“Do you want children?” He’d never asked Anders about his familial dreams, beyond reuniting with his parents. 

“You know, Mutti asked me that same question several months ago. Yeah, I did want a family. But, with the Circle, and being a Grey Warden; it just wasn’t in the cards. I take it you never wanted any?”

“Danarius never used me for breeding, and I never felt an affinity for children.”

Anders looked at him in horror. “Used you for breeding? What... like a prized bull?”

“Like a prized slave. It’s a common practice.”

“Maker’s breath, Fenris.” He took the elf’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“It never happened, Anders. Don’t concern yourself. Enjoy the parade.”

But, Anders did concern himself. That night, in bed, he held Fenris, stroking his hair, pressing kisses to his face. He wanted to console him for every ill done to him in his lifetime.

“You’re still bothered by what I said about slave breeding, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Treating people like animals... I suppose it doesn’t matter how the couple involved feels about it?” 

“No. It’s expected they will feel honored that they have qualities desirable enough to reproduce. Some do feel honored. Bred women are treated well during their pregnancy; they aren’t beaten, and are fed much better. The baby is taken away at birth, of course, and given to a wet-nurse.”

“Is that how you were born?”

“I have no idea. Many slaves have families. Some from before they were slaves, and some because they live a relatively autonomous life. Some people, in debt, will sell themselves for the money. They may then be owned by a shop-keeper, or scholar, who treats them as an employee. They’re still slaves, and could be sold, or beaten, or raped, like any other. But, not all are treated like the slaves Danarius owned.”

“I hate to ask this, I mean, it’s hardly the issue at hand, but... what if the male slave can’t....”

“Lust potions.”

“They’re illegal in most of Thedas. They can be dangerous. Some people get very aggressive when they use them.”

“The matings are observed and controlled to prevent injury.”

“Oh, for the love of....” Anders rolled onto his back and covered his face with his arms. “I can’t stand it, Fenris.”

“Then, stop asking questions, Anders. I won’t lie to you, when you ask for information. Slavery is a loathsome institution. Tevinter is a corrupt country. I’ve said it dozens of times, over the years.”

Anders sighed. “I know. But, I didn’t really understand. And, now, it’s so much worse, imagining you, living that way, being treated so badly. It breaks my heart, Fenris. It hurts.”

He felt Fenris pull him to him, and console him as he’d done the elf. He stroked his hair and pressed kisses to his face. “Don’t let my past darken your present. Look at all we have, now.”

The last night of the celebration was the dance. The dance wasn’t costumed, though some wore masks for the fun of it. Most wore new clothes, or special dress-up attire. Mina had been busy for weeks, finishing new shirts for each of the men. She had a dress that she wore to such events, that needed only a good sponging. 

Fenris had been overwhelmed when he learned that she was preparing a tunic for him. Anders had laughed, reminding him that he was part of the family, now, and that’s what life was going to be like. When Mina had him try it on to check the fit, he’d puffed with so much pride that Anders joked he would split the seams. Despite his teasing, Anders understood what it meant for Fenris to have a piece of clothing made for him, by someone who simply wanted to take care of him. His mother had chosen well; forest green with edging of charcoal grey, it had a trim fit, but not so snug as the elf’s usual tunics; and, loose, long sleeves.

Anders had taught Fenris the simple steps to the _Muttersohn,_ or, mother-son dance. It was a popular dance that all boys and men participated in with the women who birthed them, or played an important part in their lives. Because most women had more than one son, or close male family-members, it was danced several times throughout the night. Fenris wanted to show Mina his appreciation for her welcome and kindness. Anders thought it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. Body-intelligent as the elf was, he quickly picked up the movements.

The evening of the harvest gathering, they set out early. It was a half-hour’s drive to the village, where it was held. Mina had prepared numerous desserts to take along. Wil had a large cask of mead to bring, as well. He hadn’t made it, but had traded for it in early spring.

Anders could barely take his eyes off of the elf. The tunic brought out the brilliant green of his eyes, and leant a warm tone to his skin in a way his usual black attire didn’t. Fenris was nervous. Sitting in the wagon under a laprobe with Anders, behind Mina and Wil, he was fidgeting; tugging on his shirt sleeves, scuffing his feet, and biting his lip.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“I’ve never been to a party. I don’t know what to expect.”

“You’ve been to lots of parties.”

“Playing cards and getting drunk in Varric’s room at the Hanged Man, isn’t a party.”

Overhearing them from the front seat, Mina laughed. “Fenris, sweetheart, that doesn’t sound much different. Just throw in some dancing and a couple hundred more people, and you’ve got a party.”

“You’ve been to balls with Danarius, right?”

“That was hardly the same, healer, and you know it.”

Both Wil and Mina snorted.

“What’s so funny, parents?”

“Whenever Fenris is annoyed with you, he calls you ‘healer’,” Mina explained.

“Yeah. He used to call me ‘mage’, with a very disapproving tone.”

Wil chuckled. “Your _mutter_ used to call you ‘upstart’ in the same way.”

“She still does,” Anders said. Mina reached back and patted his cheek.

Unlike the rest of the week’s events, this night’s party had free-flowing refreshments. There was often romance in the air... and behind the gathering hall... and in the tall grass. The final Satinalia party was known for people indulging in sexual escapades, and the plentiful drinks encouraged a low-level debauchery. Some committed couples used the dance as a sanctioned night to step outside the marriage bed.

As they stood inside the doorway, taking in the celebration underway, Mina laughed. “Better keep a hold on Fenris, son. I see several young ladies, and men, who seem to like what they see standing next to you.”

Anders’ head began whipping about. “What? Where?” His arm shot out around Fenris and pulled him against him, bringing an ‘oof’ out of the elf, and a laugh out of Mina.

“Healer, what is wrong with you?”

“They’re out to seduce you.” Fenris looked simply devastating in his tunic. “Mutti, why’d you give him a tunic that makes him so irresistible? Everyone’s lusting after him.”

“Are you drunk, already?” Fenris asked. “Elves are not sought by female humans for romance.”

Wil grinned, hoisting the cask of ale. “There’s where you’re wrong. You’ve developed quite a following in the village, Fenris. And, a lot of people are already feeling their drink. Expect a few to test your bond with Erich.”

Indeed, Anders saw a group of young women appraising Fenris with their eyes. Another pair were giggling as they waved to catch his attention. A handsome older man was giving him a very provocative stare.

Anders grumbled under his breath. He caught Fenris looking at him in disgust.

“Do you actually believe I will be seduced by another simply because they wish it? And, I thought my faith was lacking.”

Looking at the captivatingly beautiful man next to him, he relaxed. “No. I’m just... You’re so... I feel a need to....”

“Mate guard?” Fenris cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Pretty much.”

“Good, because I may need it. I don’t know how to politely escape advances by interested parties. My fist through their chest likely won’t go over well.”

“Stick with me.”

Indeed, both men were beset by would-be suitors. Anders managed to politely reaffirm their connection, most of the time. It wasn’t as though the entire community wasn’t aware of their partnership, it was simply the last night of Satinalia. And, the couple had not made formal vows, as far as anyone knew. With a few of the more aggressive applicants for their favors, Anders had simply drawn Fenris into a deep, undeniably erotic, kiss. Frankly, he was happy for the opportunity; the elf was simply gorgeous, tonight, and keeping his hands appropriately placed wasn’t easy.

They found themselves at a table with several couples they’d gotten to know during the harvests. His arm about the elf, chin on his shoulder, Anders felt time flow around him. Watching the energetic dancing, Anders was back in his youth, when he’d run with a group of age-mates, eating, dancing, causing trouble. The sense of nostalgia was aching.

The change in music brought him back from his reverie. “Hey! It’s the _Muttersohn.”_ Planting a kiss on the elf, he left to find Mina, and drag her to the dance floor. It was a very simple waltz, designed so that even very young boys could treat their mothers to the dance.

“Mutti... why are you crying? This is a happy dance.”

“I know, I know. I just never thought I’d dance this with you, again.” She blotted her eyes with the sleeve of his tunic.

“Please don’t blow your nose on my shirt. Fenris already did that last summer.”

“Step on my foot again, I might.”

“I did not! You taught me this dance, remember.”

“I do. But, you had much smaller feet then. Goodness, they’re bigger than your father’s. Fenris is a lucky man.”

“What...? Mutter! You’re terrible... have you been drinking?”

“Yes, I have,” she said proudly. “Someone brought hard apple cider. Are you going to dance the _Liebestanz_ with Fenris?”

“The love dance? I don’t think so. He’s a little leery of dancing. And, it’s sort of a declaration of intention, you know? I don’t know if he’d be comfortable with that. And, he doesn’t know it, anyway.” 

When the dance ended, he found Fenris at a new table with several young men and women, playing Diamondback. Joining them, he immediately saw Fenris was throwing the game in deference to his tablemates’ skill level. He caught the elf’s eye and winked, and received the half-smile he so adored. Accepting some mead from a young girl passing a tray, he was dealt into the next game.

When they left to find some food, the next mother-son dance began. “That’s your cue, elf.”

Anders stood back and smiled hugely as he watched Mina’s reaction to Fenris’ invitation. Perfect. She was crying again. An arm went around his shoulders, and he knew it was Vati.

“He’s a good man, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.”

Anders knew his father had been imbibing. The more Wil drank, the thicker his accent became. By the end of the evening, he’d probably slip back into his native tongue. “He’s better than I deserve.”

 _“Ja,_ but I think you’ve earned him.”

Anders pointed at his mother. “She has a handkerchief? She used my shirt!”

Wil laughed. _“Ja._ She uses mine, too.”

“She also made a crude comment about the size of my feet. Really, Vati, take her in hand. She’s a menace.”

Laughing louder, Wil shook his head. “ _Ach, nein!_ You think I want to stem that tide? Your _mutter_ is a vibrant, passionate woman. _Und, ich mag das.”_

Anders turned to his father with wide eyes. “Passionate? Don’t tell your son that his mother is passionate.”

Wil was grinning with tipsy, lascivious mirth. “How do you think we got you, _junge?_ It wasn’t for lack of trying. We’re still trying, to this day!” 

Fenris joined them, just then, with a pleased grin on his face. “Get me out of here. Vati’s drunk, and he’s worse than Mutti.” Clapping Wil on the shoulder as he passed, Fenris led Anders to the line of tables covered in food.

Fenris was clearly enjoying himself. Not loquacious, by any means, he still exchanged greetings with those he knew, played a few hands at several card games, enjoyed the variety of food, and seemed to have truly enjoyed dancing with Mina.

“You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

“I am. Though, I don’t care for the repeated advances.”

“Well, after nearly breaking that poor guy’s hand, I think they’ve slowed down.”

“He grabbed my ass.”

“I’m not chastising. Nobody grabs that ass but me.” 

The music changed; it was the _Liebestanz._ Anders was debating the pro’s and con’s of asking Fenris, when his hand was taken, and he was pulled to the dance floor.

With surprise too great to conceal, Anders was led by Fenris in the love dance. A slow dance, the partners were drawn close, then pushed away, circling, holding, almost letting go. It was a dance that mimicked the behaviors of courtship. Many married pairs danced it, but most of the pairs on the floor were courting couples. Dancing it was often an informal way to let the community know a pair of lovers were serious about one another. 

Anders knew the steps; people began learning most dances as soon as they were old enough to move to music. How Fenris knew, was beyond him. But, know, he did. With a soft smile, the elf moved him around the dance floor, moving forward, stepping back. Anders couldn’t tear his eyes from Fenris’ brightly shining ones. He had learned the _Liebestanz_ in secret, to surprise him. 

During a close move, Anders whispered, “You know what this dance is, right?”

“Of course. And, what it means to dance it with you.”

“You have intentions toward me?”

“Several.”

Anders’ belly warmed. The dance ended with an embrace, often used as an opportunity for a kiss. Anders took that opportunity. Claiming the elf’s lips with his own, Fenris returned the kiss just as fervently. 

The rest of the night was a colorful blur. Watching his parents slowly sink into their cups was vastly entertaining. They were joined by Schmidt, who was just as drunk. He and Wil frequently lapsed into their native tongue, and all three began talking about the old days, telling unlikely stories and laughing uproariously. 

On the ride home, Anders took the reigns, telling his father he didn’t want them driving into a ditch. Wil laughed, sweeping his wife into his arms and into the back of the wagon. Both giggled like teenagers, kissing and whispering as the wagon made its way through the chilly night. Fenris leaned into Anders’ side, head against his shoulder. Anders felt a deep sense of satisfaction as they drove in the dark, the clean scent of snow carried on the breeze from the mountains.

“Did you enjoy your first party?” he asked the elf.

“I did.”

“I’m glad. Who taught you the _Liebestanz?”_

“Wil.”

“Really? I’d have thought Mutti.” 

“Wil’s your height.”

“You’re a very good dancer. You were also the best looking man there.”

“No. There was another.”

“Who?”

“He’s taking me home.”

Anders grinned, capturing a kiss. It was interrupted by a duet of _‘awwwww’_ coming from the back of the wagon. He rolled his eyes. “They’re a mess.”

Fenris glanced back at them. “They seem pretty content, to me.”

“I know. You think everything they do is irreproachable.”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“Good, you get to help me get them into the house. Vati looks like he’s slipping sideways, back there.”

Anders carried his mother into the cottage, Fenris behind him with Wil’s arm over his shoulder. Mina was laughing uproariously at something only she could understand, while Wil kept repeating, _”Meine Mina,”_ over and over. Dropping them both on their bed, Anders pulled their door shut with a sigh.

“Parents. Who knew?”

“Certainly not me,” Fenris said through his yawn. Anders took advantage of his stretching arms to catch him about the waist, and pull him close.

“So, about those intentions you have toward me....”

Fenris snorted. “Can we eat first? I’m starved.”

Anders grinned in amusement and surprise. First, Fenris had developed quite an appetite since coming to the farm. They’d spent all night eating the vast variety and quantity of food available at the dance, yet the elf was still starving. Second, and most importantly, Fenris had never turned down Anders’ advances, before. He was absolutely delighted. 

That Fenris would put himself first in this way was utterly new, and well past-due. Anders wanted to jump up and down with happiness at this sign of the elf’s growing self-regard. Instead, he kissed him, and began looking through the pantry.

As they ate their way through cold leftovers, he suddenly froze. Sounds were coming through the door of his parent’s bedroom. _They were_ \--and, loudly.

“Oh, no. No.” He grabbed up his plate and glass, and hightailed it to their private living room. Fenris followed more leisurely.

“You really need to get over your hang-ups about sex and your parents, Anders.”

“No, I do not. I’m a firm believer that parents don’t have sex.”

“That’s ridiculous. Of course they do.”

“No. Nope. They don’t. Shut the door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Thedas calendar doesn't say there's a dance at the end of Satinalia, but there's one in Ratspitz!
> 
> I imagine Fenris is very graceful when dancing.
> 
> So, Mina is partially based on me (hence the name: ME-nah!). Her relationship with Anders is much like mine is with my younger step-son. While he lived at home, the kitchen often rang with his laughing cries of "TMI! TMI!"
> 
> (I've had trouble with posting, today. Codes are running amuck, and requiring multiple edits. Sorry if you've tried to read while this was going on!)


	26. Winter Reading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter fun, Varric's books, and the name Justice slips out in conversation.

The first snowfall of the winter was met with excitement in the cottage. Fenris had never seen snow, excepting on a distant mountaintop. When he woke one morning to find the world covered in a deep blanket of white, he was suspicious. 

“Are you sure this is snow?” he asked Anders, peering around the edge of the glass-paned window.

“Fenris, you don’t have to hide from it. It’s not going to come and get you.” He could hear the amusement in the healer’s voice, but wasn’t entirely placated. 

“It looks like magic.”

Wil approached, and smiled at the elf. “Trust me, Fenris. It’s just frozen rain.” Fenris grunted. Of anyone in the cottage, Wil would be most likely to take arm against the stuff if it was malevolent. “Get your boots and coats. We’re going out to the hills.”

Anders whooped, and ran for his gear. Mina laughed, and went to find her own.

“What’s in the hills?” he asked the blonde-haired child in his room. Anders looked about ten, with his ecstatic grin and hyperkinetic energy.

“We’re going sledding. On the first decent snow, everyone goes to the hills and plays, Fenris. Plays! Sledding, snowball fights, snow sculpture contests... oo, hang on... MUTTI!” he shouted into the main house.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Do we still have that snow-knife?”

“I already packed it.”

“We always won the snow sculpture contest.”

Fenris didn’t understand most of what Anders was telling him, so just decided to go along for the ride.

Walking into the stuff was surreal. It was so still, and knee-high, and he sank completely when he stepped in it. It was very cold, and he found he was grateful for his boots. He had to admit, now he knew it wasn’t evil, it was very pretty. The sky was blue, and sunlight made everything glitter beautifully.

The ride he was going along on turned out to be a sleigh. It had two long runners, and sat low over the snow. He helped Anders and Wil lift it down from the blocks it was stored on, and hitch the horses. They all piled in, and covered themselves with thick furs.

“Is this the kind of sled you were talking about?”

“Kind of, it’s like a big sled. We don’t have any sleds, so we’ll borrow one from someone there. You’re going to love it!”

It turned out, he did love going to the hills. Most of it. He’d enjoyed the smooth sleigh ride, buried under warm furs, watching the glittering landscape go by. But, he didn’t like the sledding. It was too fast. He’d never travelled so fast, with so little control. Even riding on a running horse wasn’t this fast, and he couldn’t stop it except to let himself fall off of the speeding thing and into the clinging, cold snow. After his first ride down the hill, he’d refused to go again. Anders couldn’t get enough of it, and was running amidst the youngsters, sledding and laughing like a child.

Mina watched him with a wistful smile. “Wil and I didn't come out here for years after he left. It was just too painful, not to see him amongst the other children. He’s not so different than when he was a boy, Fenris. Look at him... the children love it that a great Grey Warden plays with them. How did he keep his joy, all this time?”

Fenris thought carefully before he answered. “He didn’t, Mina. He lost it, for a long time. Coming home, he's found it again.”

“I’m so glad you brought him back. I can never repay you for helping him realize he could come home.” She put her arm through his, and leaned against his shoulder. He felt himself puff with pride. Mina was like an adopted mother. He liked standing in the crowd, displaying the affection they shared. 

“You’ve already repaid me, a hundred times over,” he murmured. 

When it was time for the snowball fight, Fenris excelled. Battle had been his life, after all. He and Anders, along with Wil and Schmidt, brought the opposing team to their knees. That part of playing in the snow, Fenris could get behind. He took a break after the battle was won, to sit in the sleigh, basking in the sunshine. He watched as Anders and his parents created a large sculpture out of snow for the contest. There was nothing you couldn’t do with the stuff, he marveled. Throw it, slide on it, build with it, write in it. When Anders had taken him off to the side for a latrine-break, he’d laughingly showed him how to write his name in the snow. 

The sculpture was beautiful. They piled, packed, and carved the snow into a graceful effigy of Andraste. She was glittering, pure white, arms raised to the heavens. She was breathtaking in her snowy grandeur. He realized that they’d built the statue to be viewed only from the front. There was a large concavity in the back. When the time for judging came, he realized why.

As the crowd of onlookers gathered before the sculpture, Anders tugged Fenris out of his fur coat, and pulled him to stand in the concave alcove in the rear. Then, on his signal, Fenris activated his lyrium. Apparently, the effect was stunning, if he was to judge by the gasps and cries of appreciation. He grinned to himself. This was the single best use of his lyrium he’d ever found. The family’s glowing sculpture of Andraste won the contest.

By the time everyone began to head home, Anders was exhausted. He’d run himself out on the sledding slopes between snowball fights and snow sculpting. He lay his head on Fenris’ shoulder, and fell asleep on the trip to the cottage. Fenris leaned his cheek against the damp, golden hair, and sighed. Mina glanced back at them, and smiled with a wink. It had been a wonderful day, he thought. It was a wonderful life.

After the first few days of snow, it lost some of its allure. It was cold. It was everywhere. And, it melted on his clothing, leaving them with frigid damp. 

“Grow a pair, pansy,” Anders said, reclining in front of the fireplace in their private sitting area. “You’re acting like some spoiled cat.”

Peeling off his wet clothes with the tips of his fingers, Fenris scowled. “I never thought I’d miss Tevinter. This cold wet is unpleasant, at best. I could use some heat.”

Moving behind the now naked elf, Anders put his arms about him. “I’ve got heat....”

With an undignified squeal, Fenris jumped, and pranced away. “Your hands are freezing!”

Anders grinned, and stalked the elf across their private living room. “So, warm them up.”

“No! No-no-no!” Evading the healer with well-trained reflexes, Fenris made for the bedroom, and was tackled onto the bed from behind. A laughing, squirming wrestling match ensued. Anders was in his element, and had the elf pinned on his back beneath him in moments. Both breathing hard, and grinning, Anders held Fenris’ hands pinned next to his head. Fenris smirked at him. “At least your hands are warm, now.” He raised his head and took Anders’ lips with his own. It was a sweet kiss, less passion than simple joy. He loved playing with Anders, this way. He didn’t remember ever playing. Perhaps he had, as a child, though many slave children worked as hard as the adults. Whichever the case, he played now. Anders brought him laughter, rough-housing, jokes, snowballs to the back of the head, theft of his bacon when he wasn’t looking, unexpected kisses.... 

“I love you,” he murmured. He saw the delight that filled Anders’ eyes at the words. He didn’t say them often, but when he did, Anders always accepted them as the greatest gift he’d ever received.

“I love you, too.” Anders said them more easily, and each time, to Fenris, they were the greatest gift he’d ever been given.

Winter held the land firmly in its grasp. The Frostbacks were famous for their enduring cold and icy winters. The foothills, though less extreme, still felt the mountains’ influence. Chores still needed done, and there was maintenance and repairs to attend. Even so, there was a lot of downtime during the snow flurries and occasional storms. Anders continued teaching Fenris to read and write. The elf was advancing steadily. 

Watching Wil play the lute, he became fascinated with the instrument. He’d seen them before, of course. Every-other bard used one. Tevinter had a huge variety of musical instruments, the wealthy having nothing but time to explore leisurely pursuits. But, he’d never paid much attention to them, nor had the opportunity to learn. Wil happily showed him how to finger some chords. Fenris’ face lit with wonder. His hands had done many ugly things; wielded a killing blade, torn the hearts from men. But, making something so beautiful as music? He’d never imagined he could create beauty. He was hooked. 

Besides reading, writing, and music, the elf had also taken up an unexpected hobby... baking. Since Mina’d first shown him how to make a cobbler, he’d helped her make several other desserts. He liked turning such simple ingredients into delicious, decadent foods. It was amazing how many different forms flour, fruit, and spices could take. Mina was delighted to share her knowledge with the elf. 

When apples had come into season, he’d been over the moon to learn to make baked apples, apple pies, apple strudel, apple cobbler, and apple crumble. Then, Mina had taught him to preserve applesauce, apple butter, and make apple cider. He began experimenting with seasonings, and created several apple desserts of his own. It turned-out, he had a fair hand with crusts, and eventually expanded his repertoire to include meat-filled pies and pastries, as well. Fenris cringed to think what Hawke or Varric would say to see him in a full apron, rolling dough. Then, he decided he didn’t care. He enjoyed this soft, domestic skill. 

Fenris spent a lot of time thinking over his run from the family, earlier in the year. He did have occasional bouts of fear, as Anders had predicted. He’d never had so much to lose, in all his life. There were odd moments when he would look up in the evenings, and feel a sense of disconnect. Looking at the three others, sitting around the hearth, or at the table; reading, talking, laughing... including him in their felicity. How had this happened? Was this real? When would it all come crashing down?

The sensation didn’t overwhelm him, as it had on that summer night. Yet, it was disconcerting enough to have these moments that he’d finally discussed it with Wil. He knew he could talk to Anders, but he’d already scared him enough with his fears. It wasn’t easy to discuss, but Wil was... like him. 

“You’re on a journey, Fenris, into territory that’s unknown to you. Of course you feel moments of fear. The Maker is with you; it’s He who put you on this path. Trust in Him, He won’t abandon you.”

Fenris shook his head. “How can I trust Him? He allows thousands of people to suffer in slavery. He allows mages to use their magic in foul ways. I saw the plight of the poor in Kirkwall. Why would the Maker allow those kinds of things to happen?”

“That’s the hardest question ever asked by those seeking the Maker. How can a just god, a loving god, allow such evil in the world?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“We don’t always know why the Maker allows bad things to happen. Some believe it’s because He wants mankind to find their own way without His intervention. Yet, in so doing, we err, like all children do. Others believe there’s a reason for pain, something to be learned, that only He understands.”

“So, He sits there, watching us suffer, and does nothing about it? Why should I trust in Him, if He’s nothing more than a bystander?”

“Yet, you freely admit that you see His hand in Erich’s life. That you may well be His tool to lead Erich along his path.”

Fenris scowled. He couldn’t deny that much was true. He’d seen remarkable events unfold in Anders’ life in the past year-and-a-half. “That doesn’t make it any easier. It begs the question of why the Maker would lavish so much on one, yet not on everyone.”

Wil smiled. “You ask excellent questions, Fenris. I can’t answer for the Maker, but let me ask you this; when you look at the suffering of your life as a slave, is there anything that later served in bettering your situation, or that of another?”

Reluctant to admit to anything good coming from his past, he couldn’t deny certain things. “My sister said that I fought for the privilege of these markings. I was granted a boon that I used to free her and our mother.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“These markings allowed me to survive when I left Danarius. And, to join Hawke’s crew in Kirkwall.”

“Keep going.”

“I met Anders through Hawke. And, Hawke asked me to look-out for him while he was gone; and, that’s how he came to be in my mansion when I found him with the brand.”

“Do you see the pattern?”

Frowning, he thought. “I do. Yet... Varania said life was very hard after they were freed. And, these markings also allowed me to do terrible things, kill people at Danarius’ behest.”

“Most things in life have good and bad. It’s inescapable. The trick is to rejoice in the good, and try to ameliorate the bad. Fenris, you’re not alone in these feelings. Everyone fears losing the good things in their lives. The difference between you and others, is that your past has left you with the kind of fear most people can’t imagine. Fear will lie to you. You must trust the Maker to show you the truth. That truth can take many shapes, so you have to be open to the possibility of it when it comes.”

Fenris was thoughtful. He nodded. “I see that.”

“It’s not easy, having faith in the Maker. Especially for those who’ve never had reason to have faith in anyone.”

“It seems easy for you, and Anders.”

Wil shook his head soberly. _“Nein, nein._ There are times when it does come easily. But, I've fought just as hard as you, many times.”

Fenris thought of this conversation frequently during the long, cold months. He couldn’t deny the truth of his road to this point. He imagined how his life would be different, if any of the things he talked about had not occurred. He didn’t like the past he’d experienced, yet, some of it also served to propel him to freedom. It was painful to think about, yet impossible not to.

Fortunately, there were many distractions in his life to keep his mind otherwise engaged. During the winter lull, when weather was accommodating, families visited one another. Mina was delighted to entertain, now that the cottage had been expanded. Schmidt and his wife, Lera, and their two sons, were frequent visitors. Fenris particularly enjoyed those gatherings. He liked Schmidt. He was a _mensch._ Fenris had asked Mina what that meant, after Schmidt had called him one. 

“Schmidt said that? He’s right, of course, but there’s fellows in the Village that would give their left bollux for him to say that of them.”

“What does it mean?”

“Really, it’s the word for man. But, to call someone a _mensch_ is to say they’re a man of honor, someone of noble character, someone to emulate. I have to agree, Fenris. You are a _mensch.”_

He’d felt a warm glow of satisfaction.

When the two families got together, a Wicked Grace game usually sprang-up among the four men, and Schmidt and Wil were both worthy competition. Anders usually played, but he just had too many tells to hold his own among the others. Those three were like statues holding cards. He had no qualms about joining Lera and Mina in their conversation, or entertaining the three and six-year-old boys.

Lera was pregnant, again, and and due in spring. During a return visit to Schmidt’s home, they ran into the village mid-wife. Tena was one of the village Council members along with Schmidt and Wil. In fact, she’d delivered Wil when he was born, in the Anderfels. Since he’d met her during the summer, Anders had visited her several times. He’d had little experience with pregnant women or babies, living in the Circle and then the Wardens. He’d managed well-enough in Darktown, just going off of the theory he’d learned in his training at the Circle. Both Tena and Anders enjoyed the knowledge she imparted to him.

Winter also gave the three men of the house more time for quarter-staff practice. Anders had become a respectable staff fighter. Fenris felt a new kind of pride, watching him. The elf had never trained anyone, before. Seeing him now, and knowing the part he’d played in his progress, gave Fenris great satisfaction. Occasionally, on visits with Schmidt’s family, the former Green Man would demonstrate his archery expertise with his longbow. He was more formidable than Sebastian; easily as good as Varric. His eldest son had a smaller bow, and was learning the weapon from his father. 

Anders went out on several healer-calls during the winter. Bad colds, broken bones, frostbite. He was getting to know the Villagers much better then Fenris. Partly because of his healing work, and also because Fenris just wasn’t as sociable as Anders was. He was always polite to people, but he just didn’t have it in him to make small talk. Interestingly, no one thought much of it. Wil had been that way since he was a child. And, although Fenris was a newcomer, he was living in Wil’s home, and spending a great deal of time with him. People started thinking that the elf simply took after him, rather like a son would. 

First Day came and went as winter marched on. On the first clear day after the turn of the year, a large circuitous parade began at the village, and wound its merry way through the outlying areas. Sleighs were filled to overflowing, and horses decorated in feathers and bells, as the tradition of checking on neighbors took them through each farm in the village. People sang, threw snowballs at nearby sleighs, shouted and laughed with the joy of community. Picking up the farming families as it went, the growing parade ended up back at the village, where ale, mead, and hard cider were served. It was a much milder time of rejoicing than the Satinalia celebration, but just as anticipated. 

Then, shortly following that, came Wintersend. Originally celebrating the end of winter, with trade beginning anew, southern lands altered the holiday. With winter in full force, there was little travel. Ratspitz held a gathering in the village, with singing and worship, followed by gift exchanges among family and friends. Fenris and Anders happened to have gifts to share with the entire Village.

Varric had sent them a large package, containing several copies of all his printed works. An included note instructed them as to the disposition of the gifts. 

“Dear Blondie and Broody,

“Thought you could use some entertainment in that tiny village of yours. As a Wintersend gift, I present the finest literature the Free Marches has to offer.

“Here’s a few copies of the Varric Tethras collection of fantastic tales. Spread ‘em around.”

“Your favorite dwarf,

“Varric”

Indeed, as they unpacked the box, they pulled out books they hadn’t even known he’d written. The Dasher’s Men; Darktown’s Deal; The Viper’s Nest; Hard in Hightown, of course; and, the entire Swords and Shields series.

“Holy nugs, Varric wrote all of these?” Anders exclaimed.

“If he writes half as much as he talks, I have no doubt about it,” Fenris said. He’d read Hard in Hightown with Anders, already. He was debating between The Dasher’s Men and Darktown’s Deal. He handed Anders the latter. “Here, you lived in Darktown, maybe this will inspire nostalgia.”

Anders snorted as he gathered up a full set of Swords and Shields, and handed the stack to Mina. “Here, Mutti, this is probably to your liking.”

“You know that’s a risqué serial, don’t you?” Fenris asked him. “Isabela had a hand in some of the sex scenes.” Mina squealed, making all three men wince at the high pitch.

With a sigh, Anders said, “You told me to get over my hang-ups. Here’s me, trying.”

When Wil settled on Hard in Hightown, they packed up the rest to take to the Wintersend gathering. 

“I know what I’m doing with the rest of my day,” Mina said, gazing at the books in her hands. “You men are on your own for supper.”

When Anders and Wil groaned, Fenris quirked his half-grin. “I’ll make a pot pie for dinner.” He loved an opportunity to cook. Pot pies were easy. 

He was pulled into an enthusiastic kiss. “I love that you cook,” Anders whispered.

Mina had sharp ears. “So do I. Gives me a break, now and then. Alright, Erich, put a log on the fire. Wil, bring my shawl, would you? Fenris, would you light that lamp? I have reading to do,” she declared, settling down for the duration.

At the Wintersend celebration, Anders and Fenris handed the books about, making sure those households farthest from the village had at least one book. Everyone was told to read a book, then trade and pass them along so that others had the chance to enjoy them. Fenris was surprised at the reaction. People were drunk with excitement. Having only recently learned to read, he’d not considered that so many would enjoy it so much. It gave him a warm feeling, to hand a book to someone, and see their delight, and know it was through his friend that this joy was given. Making people happy... felt good. 

“Sending those books was a lovely thought,” Mina said on the sleigh ride home. “There’s so little to do in the winter, and not many people have books for entertainment. I haven’t seen so much excitement in years.”

Anders agreed. “Varric’s a great guy. But, believe me, Mutter, he’s getting as much out of this as the village is. He’s got a monopoly on the book market, here.”

“Do you know any of the characters in these stories?” Wil asked. “Did you meet Donnen Brennokovic while you lived in Kirkwall?”

With a grin Anders replied, “Not really, Vati. Most of them are combinations of real people; Donnen’s supposedly based on the entire city guard. And, although the picture on the front of Swords and Shields looks a lot like Aveline Vallen, Kirkwall’s Guard Captain, she’s definitely not the Guard Captain in the book.”

Fenris nodded. “You noticed that, too?”

They were delighted when, several weeks later, Schmidt showed up with a thick envelope, filled with thank you’s from the people of Ratspitz. “Everyone wanted to properly give their appreciation to your friend Varric. This winter has been more entertaining than most have had in their lives. And, Wil, how much longer are you going to be with Hard in Hightown? You’re the slowest reader in the village.”

“I’m savoring it. A good book is like making love... you don’t want to rush it.”

“Well, you don’t want to fall asleep halfway through, either. Get after it, _junge.”_

Anders and Fenris laughed at the old friends’ byplay. They sounded remarkably like themselves. Including a note from their household, they sent the packet of letters to Varric.

“Guardian 9:38

“Dear Varric,

“The entire Village of Ratspitz sends our undying thanks for the gift of your bountiful stories. Really, it was the best idea in a history of your good ideas. I know you’ve said the romance serial is the worst thing you’ve ever written, but the women here, and several of the men, are eating it like candy. My mother among them, so I’m not so sure just how thankful I am for that.

“We hope Wintersend found you and and the rest of the gang healthy and happy. We are, on both counts. Life in my home-village is agreeing with us. Well, Fenris was like a wet cat in the snow, but I think he’s made peace with it. Farming life suits him, he says. I believe it, too. He truly seems content to have doffed his blade and armor in favor of a hoe. Actually, he spends less time in the garden than in the field or with stock. He’s been breaking-in a filly with my father. You should see him at it. Broody doesn’t enter into the picture.

“Speaking of broody, next time you see Fenris, ask him about the hen. Great story, there.

“My mother is dead-set on making a Satinalia mask like Isabella’s gold Orlesian one. Any chance she could make a sketch of it, for Mutti to work off of? So not the sort of message I’d hoped to pass on regarding my mother.

“Anytime you’re in the area, stop in for a spell. (see what I did, there? Spell? Yeah, it wasn’t that good....) We’d love to see you.

“Maker watch over you,

“Anders.”

Mail in the winter took time. It wasn’t for almost two months that they received a letter from Varric. He’d been thrilled to get the thank you letters from the village, happy his gift was so well received. 

He passed on news about the recovery efforts in Kirkwall. The city was attempting to rebuild, but chaos still had a hand in the game. The Mage Rebellion, as it was being called, had not slowed. Varric had heard that several other Circles had lost control of both the mages and templars. Apostates were growing in number. Not all were seeking power, but, simply freedom. Yet, of course, there were those turning to blood magic for protection or whatever reasons blood magic was ever turned to.

Fenris watched Anders as he read. He knew the healer was torn. This was what he’d fought for, for so long, during his Justice days. Now, he was caught between two warring factions within his own heart. 

Anders continued skimming through the letter. “More Circles disbanding. They’re calling it a war... the Mage-Templar War. Maker’s breath... it’s getting serious, Fenris.”

Not just serious. Terrifying. “Is this what you and Justice had in mind?”

“Um... not really, no. I don’t think so, anyway.”

“Who is this Justice?” Wil asked. Anders looked like his heart had stopped.

“He... was... someone I met in the Grey Wardens.”

“Another Warden?”

“Sort of. Vati... it’s kind of complicated.”

“Anders,” Fenris said. “You can’t put it off, any longer. It’s time, now.”

Wil and Mina looked between them, confusion clear on their faces.

Anders took a deep breath, and nodded “You’re right. You’re right. Mutti, Vati, I need to tell you something. About why I left the Wardens. About a decision I made, that changed... everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is a warm-climate creature. ;-) Good thing he has a cuddly bed-warmer.
> 
> Trying to understand God, in any name, shape, or belief... not easy.
> 
> So... the topic is broached.


	27. Confessions of an Abomination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders tells the story of Justice.
> 
> Wil makes a confession of his own, in return.

“You can tell us anything, son,” Wil assured him. He and Mina took seats opposite the two men.

“You say that, but...” he sighed. “While I was in the Wardens, we went to find a missing Grey Warden in this haunted swamp....” He told of being drawn into the Fade, of meeting the Spirit of Justice there, of being cast back out, and of Justice being inadvertently thrown into the corpse of the missing Warden.

“It became an abomination?” Wil asked.

“No. It wasn’t a demon, Vati, it was a Spirit of Justice. He worked with the Wardens for a while. He cared only about justice, and there is so much injustice in the world.”

“He was a Warden?” Wil sounded confused.

“By default, since he was in the body of one. It was a corpse, though, rotting around him. He heard me talk about the treatment of mages in Circles. In time, he became interested in their plight. He challenged me to do something about it. I was content simply being free of the Circle. He thought I should help those mages still imprisoned.” He stopped a moment, and looked at Fenris. The elf nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“One day, he offered to help me, in return for helping him. I could give him a body that was living, whole. In return, he promised to help me find a way to free all mages. He proposed that I... join with him.”

Wil’s expression was severe. “What do you mean, _join with him?”_

“I took him into my soul, Vati. We became one.”

Wil stood, abruptly. His voice was quiet, filled with disbelief. “You became an abomination? You willingly took a demon inside of you, and _became an abomination?”_

“I... yes.”

Eyes hardening his father demanded, “Is it still within you?”

“No. No, Vati, Justice was lost when I received the Tranquil brand.”

Wil cut his eyes to Fenris. “Is this true?”

“Yes. All of it. The demon is gone.”

“Do the Wardens know?”

“I’m not really sure what they know, Vati. There was a battle when we first joined. An ex-templar attacked me. A lot of Wardens died. I ran, then. To Kirkwall.”

Wil rubbed his face, looking bewildered. Abruptly, he turned, walked into his and Mina’s room, and shut the door.

Anders dropped his head into his hands, shaking. “He’ll send me away, again. A mage was one thing... but, an abomination? He’ll send me away.”

“Sweetheart.” He looked up at his mother. “Why?”

He shook his head, feeling his heart breaking. “I thought I was doing a good thing, Mutti. I thought I was helping a friend. I thought we could help the mages.”

His mother sighed. “Some of the worst acts have been committed in the name of good.”

“I know.” He’d never regretted joining with Justice more than he did, right now.

“Just give your father time. He needs to think it through.”

“You’re not angry?”

“I’m frightened for what happened to you. I don’t understand why you did it. But, no, I’m not angry. I assume Fenris knew this, from the beginning?”

“I did,” Fenris rushed to assure her. “I was no more pleased about it than Wil.”

“Mutti, go talk to Vati. I’m afraid he’ll never want to see me, again. Please, don’t let him....” he couldn’t finish.

Mina stood, and caressed his hair. “Don’t worry, Erich. Everything will be fine.” She left the room to join her husband.

Anders leaned back. “Oh, Maker, Fenris. What if he tells me to leave? What if I’ve just destroyed everything I’ve finally gotten back?” He was spinning inside, nauseated. “I’m going to be sick,” he whispered.

Fenris pulled him close. “Wil will be fine. He’s not going to send you away. He just needs to let it sink in. He needs to reconcile the man he knows with the man who willingly became an abomination.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“That’s what I had to do, after you lost Justice. It wasn’t easy. It’ll be easier for Wil. He never knew you while you were an abomination, and he already loves you.”

“I pray you’re right.” And, he did. Wrapped in Fenris’ arms, he prayed to the Maker harder than he ever had. Prayed that his father could forgive him for an act committed so many years ago.

It was dark before Wil and Mina emerged from their room. Wil simply said, “Let’s get to the chores,” put on his coat and walked out the door. Exchanging glances, they followed. Wil worked alongside Fenris, and Anders could hear them speaking in low tones. He gave them a wide berth, and said silent prayers as he worked. When they had finished, Fenris went back in, but Wil kept Anders back.

Standing before his father, heart pounding, Anders felt like a child again, ready to be chastised for a wrong-doing.

“I have never been so saddened as when you told me you let that demon inside you.”

“I know, Vater.”

“You went through so much, and never fell to blood magic or demons, for so long. You freed yourself of the Circle you hated when you joined the Wardens. I don’t understand how you could have fallen for its offer. Did it help you, as it promised?”

“He tried, Vater. When we joined, we became something different. Something terrible, at the same time as something that badly wanted to change things for mages.”

“Mages are free now, all over Thedas. Is that what Fenris meant, when he’d asked if it’s what you and Justice had in mind?”

“Yes, Vater.”

“And, is it what you had in mind?”

“No, Vater. I didn’t want a war. I just wanted mages to have freedom. I didn’t think clearly with Justice in my mind. I didn’t understand that until I was free of him.”

“You killed fellow Wardens, when you first came under its control.”

“Yes, Vater.”

“Fenris says you also killed a mage while it controlled you.”

“Yes, Vater. I did.”

Wil was silent a moment. “Son, I won’t deny I’m heartbroken by the choice you made. I’m also heartbroken that you lived as you did, for so long; not yourself, under the influence of a demon. But, you were a grown man when you made your choice, for good or ill; it’s not for me to question you. The Maker knows your heart, and He stood by you, and saw fit to bring you from your darkness.”

Anders’ breath caught. “Do you... can you forgive me, Vati?”

“It’s not my place to judge you, son, nor forgive you. The Maker has done that, and has given you a new life, a new path to follow. How can I refute His judgement? I lost you once, Erich. I’ll not be foolish enough to lose you again.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Anders stepped forward to hug his father, and was relieved when he pulled him close. It was over. It was out. His parents knew the truth. Anders sank into his father’s embrace, and couldn’t help but notice that it was just as comforting to him now, as when he’d been a child. He stayed in the circle of his Wil’s arms, letting that comfort sink into him.

Wil was quiet a moment, then began to speak. “Erich... you are not alone in making a terrible mistake in the name of justice. When I was a boy, I learned something that changed my life. An apostate blood mage had raped my mother on the steppes, and through that act, sired me. She died, later, of the Blight, as you know.”

“That’s why you distrust mages. Why you believe magic is a curse.”

“Yes. The pain of that knowledge... it consumed me. It turned into a hatred for mages. By the time I’d turned thirteen, it had set me on a murderous path. For nearly two years, I killed any apostate that came near our village, in revenge for what that blood mage had done.”

Anders’ heart galloped. He stepped back from his father and looked at him with wide eyes.

“You... killed mages? Even those who were not blood mages?”

“I was lost in my hatred, Erich. I was a child, trying desperately to set right a wrong that I couldn't understand.”

Anders was trying to understand what he was hearing. Trying to equate the killer his father described with the man who’d raised him. “But, they were innocent, Vati. Some may have been blood mages, but I’m certain most of them were just trying to find freedom. You just killed them? Without thought?”

“I did. It was wrong, and Schmidt helped me to see that, eventually.”

Anders had a terrible thought. “Vati... when I manifested magic, was it the Village I was in danger from, or was it you?”

“Was it me...? Erich. _No, Erich._ Oh, my son... I would have never hurt you!”

Anders’ head was in his hands as he tried to make sense of it all. _“You killed mages....”_

“I have begged for the Maker’s forgiveness, every day since Schmidt found me. I’ve prayed for the souls of those I killed. When you showed your magic, I knew it was my sins that had caused the Maker to curse you, that you would be taken from me, as I took the life of those mages.” Wil’s face crumpled. “And, I’m sorry, Erich. I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through, for what you were compelled to do, later.”

“Vati, magic is not a curse. I became a mage because you carry magic in your bloodline. Because the Maker _gifted_ me with magic, not because you killed those people.”

He slowly paced the barn floor. He was, frankly, horrified by what his father had told him. _His father had been a mage killer._ Yes, he’d been a child, only thirteen... he remembered what he’d been like at that age. He’d certainly carried hatred in his heart for the Circle. How would he have felt if Mutti had been--? His thoughts were cut short by hot, sickening fury that shot through him, just at the _thought_ of it. He'd known mages who'd been raped, and had felt anger. But, this... he tried to clear it from his mind.

Wil’s young heart and mind had been twisted by such anger, by pain. He’d sought vengeance for his mother, in any way possible.

Oh... Maker.

“We were both monsters of vengeance.”

Wil took a deep breath. “I suppose we were.”

“How many did you kill?”

“There were eight. I remember them all.”

“Vati... did you ever do it, again?”

“No, son.”

Anders nodded. “Your pain and anger twisted you to seek vengeance, just as my pain and anger twisted Justice into Vengeance.”

“That does not excuse my actions.”

“No. But, it explains what you did. Because, Vati, if I’m going to live with this knowledge, I need _something_ to explain it. _I need it.”_

“I understand, son. I will never stop praying for forgiveness. I will never stop seeing the faces of those I killed. If you cannot forgive me... I understand.”

Anders shook his head. “Vati...” he strode back to his father, and embraced him, again. “You were so young. You made a terrible choice. I did, as well, as a grown man. We both killed innocents in our quest for justice.”

“Maker’s breath,” Wil breathed. “That we should have such horror in common....”

They stood, locked in embrace, for a long while. Anders’ heart ached; for so much, and for so many.

“Son... Fenris tells me you tried to take your own life when you lost your magic.”

“Yes, I did. Vati, losing my magic was the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“Oh, my boy. I’m so sorry. It takes a soul-deep pain to push a man that far.”

“It was.”

“The Maker truly sent Fenris to you, Erich. He saved your life, he brought you to us, and he loves you deeply.”

With a shuddering breath, Anders nodded.

“Can we go on from here, son?”

“I want to, Vati. I’m terrified by what I’ve learned. But, you’re my father, and I don’t want to lose you.” He drew a shuddering breath. _“I just don’t want to lose you,”_ he whispered.

“Neither do I.”

“Good.”

Returning to the cottage, they found Fenris in deep conversation with Mina. They stood to greet them when they came through the door, and Anders was pulled into a fierce hug by his mother. The night’s Chant was short and simple, and touched each of their hearts deeply.

 _”All sins are forgiven! All crimes pardoned!_  
_Let no soul harbor guilt!_  
_Let no soul hunger for justice!_  
_By the Maker’s will I decree_  
_Harmony in all things._  
_Let Balance be restored_  
_And the world given eternal life.”_

Lying in their bed, feeling Fenris’ warm body against his, his strong arms about him, Anders tried to relax. He breathed the elf’s scent, felt his skin, and let the tension ebb away.

He told Fenris the things Wil had told him; about his mother, his vigilante years, the strange parallel he saw between them. Fenris listened quietly until he’d said it all.

“A filthy blood mage....” he’d growled.

“Probably where I got my magic. Doesn’t make me happy, at all, believe me.”

“Yet, if your grandmother hadn’t had Wil, you wouldn’t have had magic, and your entire journey wouldn’t have happened....”

“...And, we wouldn’t have met. Maker, it makes my head spin, sometimes.”

“I’m proud of you, Anders. Telling your parents wasn’t easy for you.”

“Thanks for pushing me. I don’t like secrets. But, damn.... I was scared to death Vati wouldn’t be able to get over it. And, now... I learn this. Fenris, he....” He broke off his words, and burrowed into the comfort of Fenris’ body.

“I’ve got you,” the elf murmured, tightening his hold. “We all have dark pasts, Anders. We have all done things we would take back if we could. Is what Wil did so much worse than what I did to the Fog Warriors?”

“He wasn’t forced to do it, like you were.”

“He was little more than a child, Anders.”

“I know... it’s just....”

“It’s just that it was mages. Those you tried for so long to save. If it were someone else, say, Orlesians, would you feel the same unease?”

Anders thought about it. It would be disturbing, in either case. But... he had to admit, it was the fact that his father had targeted mages that made it so hard to assimilate.

“It’s because everyone of those mages could have been me.”

“I know. He asked you a very honest question. Can you go on from here?”

“I want to. Maker, I want to. But, how do I?”

“You decide that you will. If what you’ve learned is not enough to make you turn your back on your father, then forgive him, and go on. He’s the same man he was before you knew.”

Anders took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “You’re right. You’re always right.”

“Well, I believe I am, this time.”

“I can barely think about it, right now. I just feel so....”

“Then, stop thinking, Anders. Let your heart and mind rest.”

He ran his fingers into the silky white hair. “I love you, Fenris.”

Fenris’ mouth covered his, and he lost himself in the kiss. The elf had the softest, gentlest lips when he chose, and right now, he chose. He held Anders, safe in his arms, and explored his mouth as though for the first time. Slow, sweet, comforting... Anders felt his anxieties fade and his mind begin to empty.

The kiss grew in its fever, as Fenris’ hands mapped his body. He was surprised to feel himself rolled onto his back. Fenris didn’t take the lead in bed. Yet, as he leaned over him, his kiss was growing more demanding, his hands moving over him with assertion. When Fenris reached one hand for the flask of oil, Anders knew they were entering new territory.

“Anders... I want to touch you... here....” With well-lubricated fingers, Fenris reached between Anders’ thighs, and gently massaged his entrance. “Is this alright?”

“Maker, yes. Yes, yes, anything you like....”

He did exactly as Anders would for him, slowly easing the tight ring open to allow questing fingers inside. Moaning into their kiss, Anders felt himself harden and rise. He didn’t know what was more arousing, the stimulation, or that Fenris was doing this of his own accord.

There was a brief moment of searching before the elf found the place he was looking for, and Anders was arching under him, his gasp pulling him from the kiss. Good... so good... he loved having his sweet spot stroked. It had been such a long time, and it was even more exquisite than he remembered. Fenris was well-versed in Anders’ technique, and he was using it to spiral him into bliss.

Fenris took his time, experimenting with pressure and technique. Slowly stroking over the sensitive area, letting the feeling build, Fenris watched Anders as he moaned and shuddered in his arms.

“This is incredibly arousing, Anders....”

“Uh-huhhh....” he moaned, twitching.

“Not just for you. For me, watching you.” He continued his slow assault, until Anders was crying out, hips trying to push against the blessed fingers within. “You want more, don’t you?”

“Fuck... Fenris... yes....” It wasn’t easy to speak, his higher functions giving way in the face of this onslaught. He wanted more, so much more. He wanted those fingers to rub him into oblivion, to explode into a million fragments of lust at the elf’s touch.

“Do you know my watch word?” came the passion-laden question.

“Yes... why...?”

“I want to be inside you, Anders.”

He nearly spent himself. He’d wanted Fenris to take him since their first kiss. “Yes! Please....”

There was a bit of awkward maneuvering, as Fenris took an unaccustomed position. Anders, shaking with want, slid a pillow under his own hips, and helped lubricate and position the elf’s shaft. The fingers were gone, and the blunt head of his cock was nudging Anders’ entrance. And, then... he was sliding into his body.

Anders’ neck arched back as Fenris entered him, a long moan of relief escaping him. He’d wanted this for so long. Yes... finally....

As the elf was seated, and stilled, Anders cracked his eyelids, and saw him above him; frozen with a look of disbelief. Those immense, green eyes stared down at him, body trembling.

“Anders..." he whispered. “... I didn’t know....”

“Fenris, move... please....”

With a nod, the elf pulled out, hissing at the sensation, and drove back in. Both men groaned. “It’s so good, Anders, so good,” he gasped. He moved again, and again, and again... groaning with the pleasure.

Fenris’ rhythm was somewhat inexpert, but it wasn’t long before instinct or natural grace took over. Anders matched his thrusts, feeling the sweat of their bodies make them slick. He locked his ankles behind Fenris’ back, and the angle put his prostate in line with the elf’s thrusting cock.

“Fuck! Yes!” Each pass over his sweet spot built upon the one before. With unwavering focus, Fenris rode him. The waves of pleasure pulled him under, into that place in bliss that steals words, that takes control of the mind, and leaves the body able only to contort and writhe toward the coming peak.

Fenris’ panting breath washed hot over his face, his shoulders flexing under Anders' frantic grip. The elf watched him with a heated gaze. “Anders... look what I’m doing to you,” he gasped in wonder.

Anders could only toss his head, calling out wordlessly. His end was approaching, the stimulation so intense, so long missed. Fenris’ thrusts were growing harder, deeper; his breath coming ragged. With a deep, keening cry, Anders crested, pulse after pulse coating both their torsos in hot fluid.

He was distantly aware of Fenris’ surprised, choked cry. Heat suddenly flooded his channel, Fenris anointing him for the first time.

He felt the weight of the elf collapse upon him. Anders' limp arms held him, lungs gulping air. Fenris clutched him, still buried within his body, small whimpers escaping him.

As they calmed, Fenris took a deep shuddering breath, and slowly let it out.

“Alright, love?” Anders asked.

“I had no idea how it felt for you,” he breathed.

“Were you pleased?”

“You have no idea.”

“I think I might.”

Fenris seemed to summon his energy, and pulled himself gently from Anders’ body. Lying with his head pillowed on Anders’ shoulder, he continued to tremble.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He held him close. “You’re still shaking.”

“It’s... it was... I’m simply being dramatic.”

“That’s hardly your style. What is it?”

Fenris tucked his head into Anders’ chest. “It was just that... I was within you, Anders.”

“Yes... you were. Does it bother you?” He had no idea where Fenris’ thoughts were going.

“It’s so... personal. So intimate. You allowed me to breach your very body.”

“You allow me to do so, all the time. Is it not personal, then?”

“It must be. I never... It’s something that just always happened to me.”

Now Anders was beginning to worry. “Have I seemed uncaring, Fenris? What have--”

“No, no. You are always caring. I want you inside me, to share this with you. I just didn’t realize....” There was a strange hitch in Fenris’ breathing. “Long ago, it wasn’t personal, because I wasn’t a person. I....” warm wetness was on his shoulder, Fenris trembling against him. Was he weeping? What pain was he feeling?

“You were a person, Fenris. You’ve always been a person. You should have always had the option of whether or not to share your body.”

Fenris was shuddering harder, tears falling.

“Love, please tell me,” Anders murmured. “What is it?”

“Why? Why did the Maker let it happen? Why was another allowed to take something so intimate from me? Why didn’t I matter?”

Anders gasped with understanding. “Fenris. Oh, Fenris. You matter. You matter so much. You matter to so many.” He gathered him more closely to him. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could change the past, love. I would, in a heartbeat. Even if it meant I never got to know you, if you could have been happy, and had a good life, I would make it so.”

Fenris' voice was cracking as he spoke. “But, you can’t, and it did happen, and he was inside of me... burned into my flesh, and violating my body. Why did the Maker decide I had to endure it? What good did it possibly do, in His plans? It wasn’t going to sire a child on me. It wasn’t anything more than.... _Anders, why?”_

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he heard the elf’s sorrow. Fenris had never expressed this pain, never been anything other than matter of fact and mildly dismissive when he referred to the abuse he’d suffered. For a decade he was raped, and now, a decade later, he finally felt the anguish of it. He buried his face in the silky, white mop of hair. “I have no answers, love. I don’t know why.”

Fenris wept quietly, clinging to Anders as he held him. The healer tried to block the images that wanted to fill his mind. He felt he would do anything to go back in time and stop it from happening. Fenris wasn’t the only person to have suffered such abuse, but Fenris was the one he loved; the only one clinging to him as he wept; the one he wanted to protect. But, he couldn’t protect him from the past. He couldn’t explain why those things had happened to him; and, it broke Anders’ heart.

In time, Fenris’ tears dried, and his trembling abated. Anders stroked his fingers into his hair, and whispered that he loved him. The elf’s body began to relax, and make little twitches as he drifted into sleep. Soon, Fenris’ arms pulled away as he rolled over, sprawling on his front in his usual sleep position. Soaking the sight of him into his heart, Anders quietly slipped from the bed, and found his clothing.

It was a chilly night. The month of Drakonis was usually when spring seemed to begin, with the last of the snow melting off the valleys, and farms bursting forth with lambs, calves, and foals. But, the nights remained frosty for some time.

Stepping onto the porch in his fur coat, Anders’ breath was visible in the moonlight. The creak of the porch swing turned his eyes to his father, sitting alone in the dark.

“Vati?”

“You, too, son?”

“Guess so.”

“Have a seat.”

Anders sat with his father as the swing gently swayed in the still night. Neither spoke for a time, simply sitting, looking at the star-filled sky, the moon nearing fullness.

“A difficult day,” Wil quietly said.

“To put it mildly.”

“My _mutter_ used to watch the stars on clear nights. She didn’t sleep well. Ghosts and memories haunted her in the quiet.”

“I can relate.”

“No doubt.”

They were silent again, for a while. A shooting star streaked across the horizon.

“Vati... what happened to your mother. Was she ever able to overcome it?”

Wil thought. “It’s hard to say. My _vater_ said she was never the same; that she lost confidence, and was often withdrawn. Yet, still, she loved me, the greatest reminder of her attack. She still found joy, and laughter, and raised me, and cared for me as any mother does her son.”

Anders thought of Fenris, believing he was unworthy, the barriers he put up. His jaw clenched against threatening tears, again.

“Fenris?” Wil asked.

He nodded, not bothering to wonder how his father always knew things without them being said.

“He hasn’t discussed details of his past with me, but I see my _mutter_ in him, sometimes.”

“I think he saw himself in her, when I told him what you shared with me. He asks, why the Maker let it happen? He wants to know why he doesn’t matter? It breaks my heart, Vati. I don’t know what to tell him; except that he does matter, and that I love him.”

Wil sighed. “I asked Schmidt the very same question, about my mother. Why did the Maker let it happen? Sometimes, there’s no answer. You told him exactly what needs to be said. He wants so badly to believe the Maker loves him, yet the things that have hurt him impede his faith.”

“He has reason to hurt. What he went through--” he brushed tears away. He felt his father’s hand on his shoulder.

“Your pain bespeaks your love, son. That’s the best thing you can show him. When he comes to understand the love others feel for him, he might be able to let the Maker’s love come through, as well.”

“I just want him to be happy. Whether or not he ever accepts the Maker...I just want him to be happy.” Tears fell, again.

“Oh, I think he’s happy. His past isn’t overriding the joy he’s finding, now.”

Anders nodded, sniffling. Fenris truly seemed happy. Except when his past caught up with him. His father’s arm circled his shoulder, and he leaned into him, resting his head on his shoulder. Wil still felt like the same Vati he’d always been. Strong, caring, wise.

“Just be there for him when he falters into his pain. He’ll find his way. Look how far he came, on his own. Imagine how much farther he’ll come, with love lighting the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter received a lot of revision. It just seemed to fall a bit... lax, the first time around. I wanted Anders to really feel Wil's confession; the horror and shock of it. I wanted Wil's regret to come through. And, I wanted forgiveness to be hard, like it often is. For pain and fear and thoughts to tangle up and make it anything but a clear choice. 
> 
> Wil and Anders aren't done with their journey through this. Life just isn't always tidy, that way.
> 
> And, then, all their angst and memory and emotion just flipped a switch in poor Fenris. All his life, he'd so carefully tucked his emotion and pain away. And, while he'd begun to explore some of it, _this_ just flung some of those doors wide open, and out it poured.


	28. Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Springtime brings talk of marriage.
> 
> Varric publishes a book that hits close to home.
> 
> Fenris finds new understanding.

Fenris was delighted with the new life bursting forth all over the farm. Both cows had calved, Patience had foaled, the hayfields were beginning to green with new growth. 

Patience had been a surprise. Wil had wondered about it, as she never went into heat. It wasn’t until mid-winter that she began to look more than just well-fed. Fenris had been excited once Wil confirmed she was with foal. Patience was truly his horse, and she seemed to have decided he was her person. She nickered to him when he approached, and came to the fence when he called to her. She was a good worker; pulling the plow, carrying a rider, packing loads. Anders suggested that she might have been stolen, originally, for such a fine horse to have ended up as such a cheap purchase. It was far too late to do anything about it, now, regardless. 

The evening Patience went into labor, Fenris had been like an expectant father. He’d stayed in the barn with her, while Anders and Wil had come and gone in turns. In the dark of morning, Anders had come out to find Fenris holding the wet, shaking bundle of legs on his lap, grinning down on the colt with his rare, toothy grin. Once the newborn had gotten himself to his feet, and found his way to his first meal, Anders managed to get the beaming elf to come to bed.

Fenris was proud and excited to be on the farm for the start of the season. They’d shown up last year after most of the planting and birthing had been done. He was a methodical creature, and being present for the beginning, middle, and end of the growing season was important to him.

He’d received a letter from Sebastian at the end of winter, and had felt the conflict and indecision within the man. He was flailing in his grief over Elthina, and railing in his anger against the mages. The anger was something that Fenris both understood, and was saddened to hear. He’d never known Sebastian to be angry, though certainly he was mortal, as anyone else. He wished he had anything to say that would help, but he simply didn’t. 

He’d wished he had more to say that would help Anders with his dismay over Wil’s past, as well. Although father and son continued to have a close relationship, Fenris knew Anders well enough to see he still struggled with what Wil had confessed. Fenris, himself, had been surprised to learn of Wil’s violent period in his childhood. Even he, who’d personally been abused by mages, had not taken such a hard turn. Of course, he’d been an adult, whereas Wil had been yet a boy. 

He wanted father and son to continue to love one another, and to live together in peace. The thought of their household being torn apart filled him with anxiety. He’d tried to push them away, once, and he understood now how much he would have lost. He would fight to keep them all together, to protect the family he’d only just found. Yet, if Anders found himself unable to stay... Fenris would go with him. It would tear him apart inside, but Anders was his sun and moon. Fenris would not live without him. Although Anders hadn’t specifically said that he forgave Wil, he was going on as before. Fenris took his lead, and went on as before, as well. There was much to do as spring progressed, and all their minds were occupied with other things.

Cloudreach passed in a rush of preparation and planting. The garden was started, peas were already coming up, lettuce and cabbage were being harvested as baby greens. The wheat and hay were coming along. 

Summerday was approaching. Mina and Lera gossiped about the coming nuptials, and the children entering adulthood. Lera’s baby had come without incident nearly two months ago. Anders had happened to drop by Schmidt’s with Wil’s latest finished novel, and found the labor in progress, with the ancient midwife, Tena, in attendance. He’d been asked by both to stay, so he had, but did very little. Tena knew her business, and Lera was one of those women who simply birthed easily. A healthy baby girl, bald as an egg, and with a cry to shout down her brothers.

Lera told Mina that Glina, the fourth member of the council, was marrying her partner, Lili. Fenris joined this conversation, making Anders look up in surprise. Fenris normally had little interest in gossip, or in love stories. But, what the women were saying made no sense to him.

“Two women?” the elf asked.

“Sure. It’s well past time, really,” Lera said. “They’ve shared Glina’s farm for a decade, now.”

“Two women are allowed to marry?” he asked, again. He’d never heard of two men or women marrying. Certainly not in Tevinter.

“Does that bother you?” Mina asked.

“No. Is this common in the south?”

“For a woman to prefer other women? It’s certainly not unknown. Very few same-gendered couples actually make vows at a matrimonial, though. Is it not known in the Imperium?”

Fenris frowned. “I’m not really sure, outside of the noble class. The nobles and magisters focus on breeding, and power, and alliances. Same-gender involvement is frowned upon.”

“What if two men, or two women want to be together?” Mina pressed.

“I suppose they keep it hidden. They’re expected to marry and have children. Being open about such a relationship would cause scandal.”

“That’s just silly,” Lera declared.

Fenris grimaced. “Indeed.”

“Are you and Erich going to marry, some day?” the new mother asked. Fenris was brought up short by this question.

“We... have never discussed it,” he said. He’d never even thought of it. Mina was eyeing him with a calculating look. Apparently, she had thought of it.

It came up again, over dinner. 

“Wil, Lera asked Fenris if he and Erich were going to marry,” Mina said with all the subtlety of a war hammer.

Wil looked at the two men in surprise. “And, are they?”

Anders had that grin he wore when he was very pleased, but wasn’t going to admit it. He simply turned and looked pointedly at the elf.

Fenris avoided the question, posing another. “What does the marriage ceremony do, exactly?”

“It joins the couple together in the eyes of the Maker,” Wil said.

“And, what does that do?”

“It means that the union is blessed,” Mina said.

Fenris thought about that. Marriage, to him, smacked somewhat of slavery. A ring, like a collar, was often worn to denote ownership by the spouse. He didn’t understand why it was necessary, unless it was a matter of contract between noble houses or kingdoms. “Hmm.”

Anders was still looking at him with that grin.

“What are you grinning about, healer?”

“You.”

“Apparently. I don’t understand the custom of marriage, outside the realm of joining power or money. Is it not like enslaving yourself to another?”

Wil choked on his milk, and Mina burst into laughter.

Anders snorted. “Do Mutti and Vati seem to be enslaved?”

Fenris eyed the couple as Mina blotted the milk that had spilled down Wil’s front with a towel.

“No,” he said doubtfully. “But, they also did not _need_ to marry. They could have simply lived together, birthed you, and lived their life no differently.”

“Then, why not marry, if it doesn’t make a difference?”

He frowned. “I don’t know.”

“You’re right, Fenris,” Wil said. “All of those things can happen without marriage, and often do. Being joined in the eyes of the Maker means inviting Him into your union. It makes the marriage divine.”

Fenris continued frowning. 

“It’s natural for people to pair off into unions,” Wil continued. “It is the Maker and His Bride, not the Maker, alone. They set the example for mortal life.”

“Yeah, but Vati, she was already married. That doesn’t speak well for marriage, does it?”

“You are impudent, Erich.”

Anders frowned. “So, if the Maker came down and said He was taking Mutti for His Bride, you’d be fine with that?”

“Erich, you go too far,” Wil warned. 

“I’m curious, too.” Fenris said. “How can the Maker and Andraste’s marriage be emulated, if She was already married?”

“I think I’d like to hear this answer, too,” Mina said.

Wil sighed, again. “The Maker is All. How could I deny Him, regardless of my own feelings?”

“What of my feelings?” Mina asked. “What if I don’t want to leave you?”

“I could not condone anyone, not even the Maker, taking someone against their will,” Fenris said implacably. 

“You are all speaking of the Maker as though He were a mere mortal.” Wil said. “To be in His presence would be to know utter joy and understanding. All would be made clear, simply by His word.”

“I hope so,” Fenris muttered. “Because I don’t understand it, at all, right now.”

“You still question the Maker’s intentions, don’t you?” Anders asked.

“I do.”

“Interesting choice of phrase,” Anders grinned.

“Stop it, healer. I see the work He’s done in my life. But, I also see what He couldn’t be bothered to do. The idea of of inviting the God who allowed... of having Him as part of my marriage....”

 _“Ja...?”_ Wil prompted gently.

Fenris shook his head, and stared at his plate.

“Love, don’t get upset. We’re all just talking.”

“I feel like I’ve only just learned what love is,” Fenris said.

“You have only just learned what love is,” Mina said.

“Marriage is even more confusing.”

“Marriage _is_ confusing,” Mina said. “My courting days were a mess.”

“I get the sense you feel you need to understand before Summerday,” Wil said. “That you are considering marrying my son.”

_“Vater.”_

“No, Anders; it’s alright. I have considered what direction the future may take us. If making formal vows garnered us anything beneficial, I would consider it. Yet, part of me can’t stop the feeling that we’d be entering into some form of mutual slavery. I could not accept that.”

“And, if that’s how it made you feel, I wouldn’t want it, anyway,” Anders said vehemently. “I don’t care about formalizing our relationship, love. I’m happy, right now.”

“Marriage is not something to be entered into lightly. It should be carefully considered. I suggest you pay attention to the Summerday ceremonies, Fenris. Talk to married couples. Learn why people choose to marry. It may give you insight into your own thoughts on the matter.”

Still frowning, the elf nodded. “I will do these things.”

He did, too. They went to the Summerday celebration. He watched the matrimonial. He spoke to couples he knew. He spoke to the couples that had married that day. Their responses were varied, but most said, at some point, that love was the predominant reason they wed.

Love didn’t need marriage, was all he kept thinking. In fact, marriage didn’t need love. As near as he could tell, most of the noble weddings he knew of had lacked love, entirely. He wasn’t seeing the connection.

The idea of loving Anders was still relatively new to him. Less than a year ago, he’d finally come to understand what it meant. He couldn’t help but feel the word was insufficient. There was no word to describe the way Anders made him feel. 

It had been a couple months since Fenris had broken down after the first time he’d taken Anders in bed. He hadn’t been prepared for the overwhelming sense of intimacy the act would create. He certainly hadn’t been prepared for the feelings that had surfaced regarding Danarius’ use of him, so long ago. For the first time, he actually felt how wrong it was. How painful it was, and not just on a physical level. 

He wasn’t pleased to have been brought to tears. He wasn’t pleased to have begged Anders for answers that probably didn’t exist. Yet, Anders had held him, tried to console him, and thought none the worse of him for it all. It had been an evening of high emotion and painful pasts for the entire family. 

Wil returned from the village one afternoon with a package from Varric. Anders opened it, his family gathered to watch. It was a huge book, with a familiar family crest on the front.

“The Tale of the Champion?” Anders read. “Oh, for fuck’s sake....”

“Watch your mouth, Erich.”

“Vati, I’m a grown man. Fenris, do you believe this?”

“You do like to swear, Anders.”

“No. The book!” He was flipping through the pages, and came to a colorful portrait of six familiar faces. “Oh, Maker have mercy,” he groaned. 

Fenris pointed to the white-haired figure. “Is that me? There’s you. Isabela, Varric, Aveline... the witch. This story is about us?”

“It’s about Hawke... with us as supporting characters.”

Fenris wasn’t overly happy with that idea. “How much detail do you think he went into?”

“Who knows? Only way to find out is to read it.”

Mina was delighted. “Oh, I’d love to hear what he wrote about your time in Kirkwall!”

“You sure about that, Mutti? I was with Justice, then.”

As he flipped through the pages, a letter fluttered out.

“Ah, a note from Varric. Um... wow. He says Hawke’s gone into hiding... took Merrill with him. Oh... Fenris, Sebastian has returned to Starkhaven. He’s given up the Chantry.”

“That’s too bad,” Wil said. “From what you said, he sounded like a devout man.”

“Yes. I’m not happy to hear that,” Fenris grumbled. “He was conflicted, but I was sure he’d stay in the Chantry.”

“Listen to this--he says Isabela has been contacted by King Alistair, to accompany him on a mission. She’s asked Varric to come, as well. Wow! Says they’re leaving in a few weeks. Probably already have.” 

“Erich, why don’t you start reading this lovely new book aloud in the evenings? Oh, I’m so excited for new stories!

“Mutti, you’ve had new stories for months.”

“I mean, new stories about you two in Kirkwall. I know there’s things you haven’t told us.”

“Probably for good reason,” Wil said. 

“Nonsense. We know about the spirit. What could be worse than that?”

Anders and Fenris exchanged glances. Probably nothing, but with Varric’s writing, who knew?

Reading Varric’s book was enlightening, entertaining, and Maker-damned embarrassing. Anders and Fenris both cringed at the exposure of their lives over the past near-decade. Done, now, with secrets, Anders didn’t edit his reading for his parents’ sake. 

“I don’t think this Hawke fellow was necessarily a kind man,” Mina said, after hearing how he’d seduced both Fenris, and then Anders, only to leave them in heartache.

“His personal behaviors are questionable, and he’s an apostate; but, it seems he did amazing things, and helped many people,” Wil countered.

Anders shrugged. “You’re both right.”

“Varric says he’s gone into hiding... I say he can stay gone,” Fenris said.

“Just like a blood mage to run when when the chips are down,” Anders noted.

Wil started, eyes wide. “Blood mage?” 

“Yeah, we haven’t gotten to that part. He didn’t start that way, though. It came later.”

“Fenris, the story about the Fog Warriors, is it true?” Mina asked, sadly.

“Yes, it is. It is my greatest shame, and I’m not happy to see it in print, for everyone to know.” He should have realized that Hawke would bandy his story about. 

“Don’t feel shame for something you were forced to do,” Wil said. Fenris saw shadows of regret in his eyes, and knew he thought of his own shame, done of his own accord.

“It’s easy to hear that advice, less so to follow it.”

“Is this retelling accurate? How truthful is this Varric character?”

Both men laughed. “Varric’s honest enough, but he does embellish his stories. The basic tale pretty much follows what I remember,” Anders said.

“Hawke was not so tall as Varric’s made him out to be. Anders is taller,” Fenris said.

“And, his voice wasn’t all that booming. He was just... a regular guy. He wasn’t good or evil. He wasn’t a savior or a demon. He liked to seduce his friends, cheat at Wicked Grace, and mess with the templars. He also did good deeds, took care of his mother, and kissed his dog on the mouth. He was just... a man.”

Fenris pulled a face. “He kissed that dog on the mouth?”

“All the time.”

“And, he kissed me, with that dog-kissing mouth?”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Fenris shuddered. “Good luck to the witch, then.”

Mina began to laugh.

“What, Mutti?”

“This is the real story. It’s better than the one you’re reading.”

“Truth is usually better than fiction,” Anders replied. 

“Don’t let Varric hear you say that,” Fenris said.

“He’d just change what I said in the retelling,” Anders said. “And, give me bigger breasts.”

“Well, I like the story,” Mina said. “I’ll look forward to it, each evening.”

Summer waxed into its fullness. The days and nights were warm, the windows left open from sundown to sunrise, to bring cool air into the cottage. The young mare Fenris was helping Wil train was the polar opposite of Patience. A different breed of horse, bred for speed and spirit. Fenris enjoyed to challenge of her independence, the firm hand she required. She reminded him of Isabela; dark as the pirate’s own hair, vivacious, and quick. He took to calling her Bela. Anders found it amusingly appropriate.

They took the wagon into the village one afternoon, to pick up some goods at the little store, and check for mail. A crowd was gathered at the storefront, buzzing with excitement. Fenris picked up the words ‘mage’ and ‘Circle’ from the many voices talking over one another.

There had been sporadic information about the Mage-Templar War. Word of mages and templars fighting across southern Thedas had both men concerned. There had been some mention of battles along the Imperial Highway in Ferelden, but most reports came from the Free Marches. 

Approaching the crowd, it turned out to be more than the war. The College of Enchanters, having met in Cumberland, had voted not to secede from the Chantry. Following this, the College had been disbanded.

The reports were sketchy, and the answers Anders most wanted weren’t available. 

“I’ve never liked the Chantry being involved in the Circles. Seceding would be the best thing for this situation. Mages are terrified and infuriated by the templars, for the most part. Take the Chantry out of the equation, let the mages manage themselves, with the College as oversight, and this problem could end itself. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Fenris was skeptical. He knew what free mages could do, especially in large groups.

“The templars are as whipped into a frenzy as the mages. I don’t know how they’d be called off. The Chantry’s already lost control of so many of them.”

“And, what of the reports of the mages attacking citizens? Why would they do that? You can’t tell me that none of the apostates have resorted to blood magic.”

“My guess is, most are just scared, and trying to stay alive. Talk about the rogue templars, while you’re at it, Fenris. I hate templars, but they’ve always enjoyed respect and assistance from the populace. Why would they attack helpless citizens?”

Fenris grumbled to himself. “Could they be suffering from the loss of a lyrium supply? Perhaps they’re going through withdrawal, and not thinking properly.”

Anders thought. “I suppose they could. I’ve never seen a templar in withdrawal. There was that Sampson fellow in Kirkwall. He wasn’t dangerous, per se, but he definitely had a craving. He actually helped during that damned kidnapping on the Wounded Coast.”

“No templar could be as dangerous to the average citizen as a mage, regardless.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Of course you don’t. Already, you forget the power you wielded, even without Justice.”

Anders rounded on him. “The hell I do. I know exactly what I was capable of, and I know I didn’t use my powers for evil, because it was my choice not to. It’s every mage’s choice, and most make the same one I did. Are we really back to arguing about this?”

“There’s going to be a lot of talk about just this topic, Anders. This war isn’t getting better, anytime soon.”

“Well, I don’t need it in my own bedroom, thank you, very much.”

“We’re not in our bedroom.”

“You know damned well what I mean.”

Fenris let the topic drop. He’d been a bystander to battles between mages, countless times, in Tevinter. He knew the raw power and damage that could be displayed by magic without boundaries. This war, frankly, scared him. He wondered when it would scare the powers-that-be enough to actually do something about it besides disband a college of thinking mages that had agreed not to secede from Chantry control. Who was in charge of those decisions?

All Soul’s Day approached, again. And, again, Fenris wondered who he should be remembering during the walk around the bonfires. During supper, a few days before All Soul’s, Mina and Wil reminisced about old friends and family who had passed away during their lives.

“Who did you remember, Fenris, during the walk?” Mina asked.

“No one.”

“Truly? What about those people in the book?”

“The Fog Warriors? No. I am not worthy to think of them in remembrance; it was I who killed them.”

Wil spoke tentatively. “Remembering them can honor their lives.”

“If I’d truly honored their lives, I’d not have killed them.” He began to fidget. This conversation was uncomfortable.

“Vati, don’t push him,” Anders said quietly.

Mina tried to lead the talk in another direction. “Was there no one else important in your life, even as a slave?”

“Not particularly, except Danarius.”

Anders nearly choked, shocked disbelief on his face. “Are you kidding me, Fenris?” he exclaimed. “He wasn’t important! He was... he....”

“I know what he was, and what he did, Anders. I simply pointed out that he was the only person of import in my life who has died.”

“There’s nothing wrong with praying for the souls of those who have done you wrong,” Mina said.

Fenris sneered. “I’d sooner drink poison than pray for his soul.”

“There’s the Fenris I know,” Anders said. “How you can say he was of import....”

“He was all I knew, for the first half of my remembered life. Good or ill, he was it.”

Anders shook his head, and scowled at his plate. 

After supper, Anders dragged him into their apartment. “Were you serious, in there?” He asked.

“About what?”

“About Danarius being all you had.”

“You seem to think I remember him fondly. Be assured, I do not.”

“No, I just think you’re putting importance on him that he doesn’t rightfully carry, even in a memory.”

“I don’t think you fully understand what my life was like, Anders. I came out of the lyrium procedure with no memories. All I had to tell me who and what I was, was Danarius. He taught me everything about my place in the world and my responsibility in life. He was all I had. I had no friends, or family. There were many days when I spoke to no one other than him. He was my entire world, Anders, can you see that?”

Anders looked horrified, yet, understanding had crept over his expression. “I... didn’t realize that. I didn’t know how isolated you were. I assumed you’d hated him from the start.”

“No. I nearly worshipped him, for years. By default, he became my parent, my friend, and my lover. I didn’t necessarily like what he did; I didn’t want the pain he inflicted, but if he said it was right, then I believed him. I was sickened by the blood sacrifice and magic, but if he said it was necessary, then it was necessary.”

“He brainwashed you, didn’t he? You had no memories, so he just filled your mind with whatever he wished.”

“I suppose he did. It wasn’t until I met the Fog Warriors that I understood there was another way to live. That I could exist without him. That affection needen’t come with a price. That was when I realized....” His thoughts took a sudden turn. _“Fasta vass....”_

It was suddenly clear. All of it. Thoughts flew through his mind, half-formed, yet fully realized. How else would he have known that what he had in Danarius was wrong.... what his master had done to him.... compared to that of the Fog Warriors.... only then, had he realized... and, then Danarius had ordered him to kill, and he had... the rest of his life became clear....

“Fenris?”

“It _had_ to be that way, for me to understand.”

“Fenris? What do you mean?”

“Anders... I need to think. I’ll be back, just let me... think.”

Fenris stood alone in the wheat field. The sky was a palette of pink and gold, breathtaking in its beauty. The wheat was chest high, seed heads full. Time to harvest. He spread his hands, and gently caressed them over the grasses, feeling them tickle his palms. The earth was routed, every spring. Turned over, left empty. The seeds were planted, and bounty sprang forth. 

Was the bad in his past what had made recognizing the good, possible? If he hadn’t had such pain, would he have ever longed for something other? Had his life been terrible, in order that he would find the strength to leave it behind?

So many questions, and they all led to one answer. The Maker had been with him, all along. Through the abuse, through the hardship, through the shame. It had to happen that way. Any other way, and he’d not have traveled the path intended for him.

He looked at the sunset, and felt his heart fill. Love. He knew what it was, now. He understood the word. His new family had taught him that. Not a default family; but, parents who chose him, and whom he chose in return. A lover he had evolved with, who showed him the way it should be. All of this, given to him by the Maker. The Maker who’d laid his path out for him, and guided him every step of the way.

He was light, loose, at peace. Turning to take in the farm and cottage behind him, he saw Anders and Wil with elbows over the rail surrounding the paddock, watching Patience and her foal. He could see Mina through the open doorway, lighting a lamp in the living area. Beyond her was the door to the space he shared with Anders. The moon was rising over the horizon beyond the house, full, golden, enormous as it hung low in the sky. 

Anders turned his head toward him, and raised a hand. Fenris raised his in return, his heart overflowing. This was his home. This was his family. That was his partner. The Maker had brought them all together, through the journey and pain of each of their pasts; they were meant to share this life.

He walked toward their home; his new center, the nexus of his world. Anders met him halfway, a concerned smile on his face. Fenris took him in his arms, and kissed him with all the feeling flowing through him. When he released his lips, Anders was flushed, and smiling.

“Are you alright, Fenris? You look different. Good, but different.”

“I feel different. Good, but different.”

“This is ringing a bell for me, somehow,” he smiled. “What happened?” 

Fenris shrugged, smiling a crooked smile. “Everything fell into place, that’s all.”

“Really. That’s all?”

“Yes. Have you noticed the sunset and the moonrise?”

“I did. It’s beautiful.”

He stroked gentle fingers along Anders’ cheek and into his hair. “Not as beautiful as you.”

Anders... his own Anders... smiled softly at him. “Thank you.”

They walked to the paddock, where Patience was nuzzling Wil for the treats Fenris normally carried in his pockets. 

“Fenris. Taking in the grandeur?”

“And, more,” he said. He turned to Anders. “Do you mind if I talk to Wil a moment?”

“Of course not.” He pressed a kiss to his temple, and went to join his mother in the cottage.

“What’s on your mind, son?”

Fenris felt a shiver travel down his spine. If the Maker sent him any more affirmations, he would burst. “Everything.”

“That’s a lot to have in one mind.”

“All things are possible with the Maker.”

“You found something out there in the wheat field, here at the border of night and day.”

“I did. Something I’ve tried to find, yet turns out I’d never lost.”

Wil grinned Anders’ bright grin, and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“It works that way, sometimes.”

Fenris knew he understood.

They stood in companionable silence. Patience nuzzled at Fenris, and finally found the treats she sought. He pulled the dried fruit out of his pocket, and grinned as she took it from him, her muzzle tickling his palm.

Eventually, Mina called them to come inside. It was time for singing the Chant. Anders beside him, Fenris took his knee with joy in his heart, and felt the song move through him.

 _“I covered my face, fearful,_  
_But the Lady took my hands from my eyes,_  
_Saying, “Remember the fire. You must pass_  
_Through it alone to be forged anew._  
_Look! Look upon the light so you_  
_May lead others here through the darkness,_  
_Blade of the Faith!”_

“August 9:38

“Dear Sebastian,

“I hope this reaches you in Starkhaven; Varric wrote that you had returned to claim your throne. It is difficult not to imagine you in the Chantry, but I wish you the best in your choice.

“I think of you much, lately. I have found my place in the Maker’s plan, and wished I could share it with you. You were the first to ever speak to me of the Maker. That’s important to me. I will always be grateful. 

“Maker watch over you,

“Fenris.

“PS: I have never written a letter to a member of royalty. I hope I have not made an error.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thedas references don't mention same-gender marriage. Brother Genitivi's book says that homosexual relationships in Ferelden are "a matter of scandal if done indiscreetly but otherwise nothing noteworthy." I took the scandal out of it, for my story.
> 
> I do not intend to say that there is ever a "reason" for abuse or rape. It's simply Fenris' understanding of his past. 
> 
> I noticed, as I was editing this chapter, that Anders is swearing and making smart remarks more in Wil's presence, and Wil doesn't really appreciate it. I hadn't written it with any particular thought, it's just how the words flowed. I wonder if it's my, and therefore Anders', subconscious expressing his feelings about Wil's confession? Damn... I'm getting toooooo involved in this story!


	29. Familiarity Breeds Contentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hard winter increases family time, and creates challenges for the Village.
> 
> Fenris surprises Anders.

Winter came hard and early, that year. No sooner had Satinalia concluded, than a blizzard came roaring down from the mountains, and kept the Village locked in their homes for several days. Wil and Mina said they hadn’t seen such a start to the cold season in over two decades.

“The first winter after you left for the Circle, Erich,” Mina said. “What a dark and sad time that was.”

Fenris was glued to the window. All the windows were boarded and shuttered except the one with glass panes. Anders smiled, watching him. He was like a little boy, entranced by the fury and beauty of a snowstorm. His hair nearly disappeared against the white sheet outside the glass.

It was cold, no doubt, but the cookstove and fireplace kept it cozy enough. Fenris and Anders both had plenty of warm clothes. With Fenris taking on some of the cooking last winter, and even through the growing season, Mina had enjoyed unaccustomed spare time. She had made the two men clothing both had sorely needed. Fenris still had a tendency to take Anders’ shirts to wear, which Anders could hardly be upset about. He was in one, now, hanging loose and long on him, making Anders feel as though he was warming him, even at a distance.

“Hey, elf. Come read to me,” he called. The two cushioned settees were pulled close to the hearth, and draped with furs and blankets. One had become ‘theirs’, the other Wil and Mina’s. The family spent most of such stormy days gathered before the fireplace, wrapped in blankets, working on hobbies and projects. Right now, Wil was plucking on the lute as Mina embroidered on a tunic for herself. Anders had been reading, but was hoping he could get Fenris to take over with his beautiful, dulcet voice. The elf’s reading and writing skills were really very good. He only occasionally needed assist with an unfamiliar word.

Fenris pulled himself from the window, and jumped over the back of the settee to sit next to Anders. He pulled the thick fur the healer was huddled under over his own lap, and snuggled against the warm body underneath.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Anders murmured, putting his arms around him.

The fur was from a bear Wil said had been menacing the Village several years ago. It had made forays into farms along the outskirts, tearing apart chicken coops and destroying gardens. When it took a young bullock, the Council had called for hunting parties. Schmidt was credited with the kill; one arrow, through the eye. He had traded the fur to Wil for the tobacco he’d grown that year.

“Why were you growing tobacco?” Anders had asked. “You don’t smoke.”

“Trade, of course.”

Mina had made a face and shuddered. “What a stink! The smell of curing tobacco made me as nauseated as when I was pregnant.”

“Which is why I’m not growing it, anymore. It’s a fickle plant, in any case. Easier to raise an extra steer or foal for trade.”

“We are not trading Patience’s colt,” Fenris had stated firmly.

The family had laughed. “We would never ask you to give up your firstborn,” Wil had grinned.

Now, Anders tucked the fur about them, and wrapped his arms around the elf.

“What do you want me to read?” Fenris asked.

“Oh, it’s that terrible romance serial. I don’t really care if you read it; I just wanted you under my fur.”

Fenris gave his quirky little grin, and pushed him flat so they lay stretched out on the settee. Anders sighed, perfectly content. Life did not get better than this. He could ask for nothing more.

He knew Fenris had come to an... understanding... with the Maker’s part in his life, last summer. Although he’d alluded to as much, at the time, he’d not been any more forthcoming. Even Wil didn’t know more than Fenris had found peace in the wheat field. His father suggested Anders not pester him for more information than he was willing to give on his own. Many people feel a very private relationship with the Maker, and aren’t comfortable discussing it, even with those close to them.

“He’s told me everything else about his spiritual journey, Vati. Why would he get secretive, now?”

“Who knows? He’s a private man, at heart. I suspect he has trouble putting it to words.”

Anders had to agree. He forgot, sometimes, that Fenris was actually quite reserved. He was so open with Anders. If he felt his relationship with the Maker was personal, Anders could accept and respect that. Whatever it was, Fenris was more relaxed and seemed more content, than Anders had ever seen.

Following the emotional evening in early spring, when Wil had confessed to his mage-killing days, Anders had struggled. He hadn’t really come to a decision regarding forgiving his father’s actions. He didn’t think it was his place to do so; he wasn’t the injured party, after all. All he knew was that he wanted--desperately wanted--things between Wil and he to be comfortable. He wanted to be able to go on from there. He wanted his family intact.

It had been hard, for a while. He couldn’t get past the eighteen months of Wil’s youth that had been so terrible. He understood a little better why his father couldn’t trust mages and magic. But, understanding the hatred that had twisted the boy Wil had been into a killer.... It was just so far removed from the man who’d raised him. Wil was gentle, kind, thoughtful, loving, wise. He was a good father and husband and friend. How could he have been that person, in the past?

Eventually, Anders let himself go on. He wasn’t going to beat his father up for something he obviously regretted and felt the pain of, to this day. He wasn’t going to force Wil to change his distrust of mages. And, none of it added up the love he felt so deeply for his father. What had happened was in the past, and Wil was too important to him to turn his back on.

“You read it to me,” the elf in his arms said. “And, do voices.” Fenris had first heard him ‘do voices’ when he was reading to Schmidt’s youngest son. Anders had glanced up to see the elf as spellbound as the child.

“Oh, Maker, this is going to be bad,” he grinned. He balanced the book on his chest with one hand, and wrapped his other arm about the elf squeezed on the settee with him. Pouring on the dramatic flair and ridiculous exaggeration, he read the romance aloud. Fenris began laughing, which was Anders’ favorite sound in the world. His wildest laughter wasn’t much more than a chuckle, but to anyone who knew the restrained elf, it was uproarious. Even Wil and Mina were chuckling at his ridiculous rendition of the romance novel. When the story came to a love scene, Anders brazenly made the noises for both literary partners, until Fenris was laughing enough to give himself hiccups.

“Oh, that is just adorable,” Anders said, chortling. Another kitten-like sound spasmed in the elf’s chest, and they both broke into laughter, again. Fenris’ attempts to shove Anders off of the settee turned into a wrestling match that had them both rolling onto the floor.

When Wil finally called the match a forfeit due to excessive fondling, they pulled themselves up, straightened their clothes, and resumed dignified postures. Fenris went to check on the chickens he had roasting in the oven. Anders put the book down and checked the time. “Vati, no use all of us going out in the storm. Fenris and I will handle the chores.”

During storms like this, chores were cut down to once a day. The cows both had calves, so milking wasn’t a problem to decrease. Using the guide rope they’d put up on the first day of the storm, Fenris and Anders made their way to the barn and back.

Shaking off the snow, Anders declared that the storm seemed to be abating. And, it did. When they all tumbled out of the cottage to a blue sky and frigid temperature the next morning, a changed world met their eyes. The snow drifts piled high against the western side of the house and barn. The men climbed up on the roofs of the barns and house to clear the snow before it became heavy enough to do damage. The doors were opened in the barn to allow the stock out to exercise. There was no grazing, the grass buried under four feet of snow in some areas. The chickens were moved into the barn; the storm had made getting to the henhouse difficult, and if the winter had started this hard, it would likely continue. They reinforced the guide lines to the barns and outhouse, and shoveled paths to make the going easier.

Fenris was surprised to see Mina hang out wet laundry. It was freezing cold, and last winter, she’d hung laundry in the house to dry. She explained that such dry, freezing temperatures would freeze-dry the clothes. Indeed, it did. Anders chuckled at the elf’s expression when Mina gathered the clothing, which had dried stiff and straight, and brought it back inside to shake it out so she could fold it.

They all piled onto the sleigh to make a visit to Schmidt’s, to check that they’d made it through the storm in good shape. They had. The two boys were running and screaming in the snow, Lera looking a bit worn. Two young boys, plus a young baby, stuck inside the cozy house for days on end, had been too much energy. She wanted them to run themselves into the ground, now, before another storm locked them inside, again.

As they visited, clouds began to move in, and the breeze picked-up. With hasty goodbyes, they headed for home, making it into the barn just as the storm hit. The stock , smarter than the people, had already moved back into their stalls. They secured the doors, did a hasty job of the chores, and fought their way back to the house.

Shaking off the snow, hanging their outerwear to dry, they shook their heads at each other. This was going to be a rough winter. And, it was.

Storm after storm held the community hostage. They lasted two to five days, cleared away for a day or two, then another storm began. Fortunately, the precursor winds and clouds gave people about thirty minutes to get to safety, before the world was again encased in scouring snow.

Anders, concerned that people may need help during these breaks in the storm, posted a notice in the village. Anyone in need of medical aid should burn a black-smoke fire as soon as the weather cleared, and he would get there as quickly as he could. It worked well. Several people ended up with bad sprains or broken bones, slipping in the frozen snow. A child was badly burned on a stove when the oven door was left open, and there were a couple cases of frostbite. He ended up weathering a storm at the home of a patient when his care ran into the oncoming storm. He was treated with utmost courtesy, but missed Fenris, and the easy comfort of his family home, terribly.

During the storms, the family slept longer, and ate only two meals each day; a late breakfast and an early supper. Boredom, at first not a problem, later began to rear its head. Anders was surprised to discover there really was only so much one could sleep, and only so much sex one could have, before the drive to _do something_ became overwhelming. He brought in a square piece of siding, and several sticks that were whittle-worthy. Using a hot poker, he burned the siding into a chess-board pattern. With the help of Fenris and Wil, they whittled a full chess set.

Fenris and Mina had never played, but both caught on very quickly. Wil hadn’t played since he’d left the Anderfels. Anders began to rue the idea, when he was quickly outstripped by both Fenris and Wil. They each played with serious intent, and a match between the two could take hours. Anders and his mother played more casually, and preferred each other’s playful competition over the dead-seriousness the other two possessed.

And, of course, they spent a lot of time simply talking. Fenris learned much more about Wil and Mina.

“So, Mother and I traveled to the Anderfels to be nearer my father when he was stationed with the Grey Wardens, there,” Mina said. “We saw him once a year, or so. Mother missed him, terribly. I, less so.”

“How did he die?” Fenris asked.

“We don’t know. We received a letter from his unit commander, telling us he’d died honorably, in service to the Wardens. That was just a few years after he’d joined.”

Anders nodded. “They don’t give a lot of detail. Usually, no one wants it, not really.”

“If you’re Fereldan, why does Anders call you both by Ander words?” Fenris asked.

Mina chuckled. “When we first got here, not everyone spoke Trade very well. The Anderfels are so remote, often the local tongue is the default language. _Mutter_ and _Vater_ were what most of our family and friends used, so we used it as well.”

“Mina learned a fair amount of Ander when she lived in the country. Erich never picked up much, here,” Wil said.

“I understand more than I speak,” Anders said.

Wil looked surprised. “Really? Prove it, son.”

Anders grinned. “At the last Satinalia dance, Mutti said Schmidt had _einen grossen schwanz_. Though... I wonder how she knows.”

Mina broke into gales of laughter as Wil looked discomfited.

“What’s that mean?” Fenris asked.

Still laughing, Mina said, “It means Schmidt has a big cock.”

Fenris looked at Wil with huge eyes. Wil shook his head.

“He had a reputation in his youth,” Wil said. “The females of the village all talked about what a _mensch_ he was. There were many jokes about his prowess; hunting, tracking... bedroom.”

“They weren’t all jokes, sweetheart,” Mina said. “Girls kiss and tell, too. According to Lera, he’s still worthy of the rumors.”

“Leave it to my wife’s son to learn the lewd aspects of a language,” Wil sighed.

“How much more do you know?” Fenris asked.

“Not a lot. I picked up a lot of swear words, though,” he said.

Fenris gave his half-smile. “Like, what?”

“Let’s see if I can remember... _schwanz,_ of course... _scheisse..._ um... _fick dich_... and... _fotze!”_ He was quite proud he’d remembered so many.

“Erich! That last one is terrible! I hope you never used it,” Mina was appalled.

“I hardly used any of them, after I left the Village. What’s the use of swearing if nobody understands it? I wouldn’t anyway. Vati taught me to treat women respectfully. And, I do. Even when I’m trying to kill them.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Wil said.

“What is it... _fotze?”_ Fenris asked.

Anders whispered the Common word in his ear.

“I once saw a barmaid break a man’s nose for calling her that.”

Mina snorted. “Good. He deserved it. Do you speak any Tevene, Fenris?”

“There’s really not much of a Tevene language, anymore. The nobles learn a little of the Archaic language, so they may throw out phrases and words to impress their lessers. I know a few, but it’s not something I use. I detest Tevinter, and all that is tied with it.”

“Here, here,” Wil said.

“You swear in Tevene, all the time,” Anders pointed out.

“An appropriate statement of my feelings for the language.”

“You speak Qunlat, too.”

“Oh, my, Fenris! You do know a great deal,” Mina admired.

“I know a few phrases, mostly to keep myself alive in tenuous circumstances. I picked them up with the Fog Warriors.”

“Merrill kept thinking you should know Elvish,” Anders said.

“Merrill was wrong about many things.”

“Did you meet any Dalish elves?” Wil asked.

“Oh, sure. There was a clan outside of Kirkwall....”

For hours, rambling conversations that tightened their already strong connections.

First Day came and went during a furious blizzard. They made a trip to Schmidt’s, again, in the tradition of checking on neighbors, when the storm broke. They brought toys for the boys, knowing they were going stir-crazy being locked inside for so many days at a time. During the last storm, the three men had carved little wooden soldiers, horses, and Wil had even made a surprisingly detailed dragon. Mina sewed tiny uniforms and heraldry onto the figures. The boys were thrilled, and Lera was particularly grateful.

After many months of enforced inactivity, Fenris discovered a change in himself that he’d never experienced, before. One morning, finding that all of Anders’ tunics were dirty, Fenris was forced to wear one of his own for the first time in months. Lying in bed, reluctant to get up, the healer watched as the elf pulled one on, then stood and twisted and turned in confusion. Anders laughed at his contortions and asked what the matter was.

“It doesn’t fit right,” the elf had said. Indeed, it was snug, all the way through. He tried on his other tunics, and they were the same. The ones he’d brought from Kirkwall couldn’t even be pulled down past his shoulders. He pulled it off and stood in the middle of a sprawl of clothing, in nothing but his lyrium.

“Why are they all so tight? Is it the freeze-drying?”

Anders laughed again. “I doubt it. None of your shirts have been washed in months, because you keep wearing mine. You’ve just put on some fat.” Looking at him objectively, which was difficult, because he couldn’t look at the elf without wanting to touch the elf... kiss the elf... make love to the elf.... he could see that Fenris was decidedly thicker than he’d been in the fall.

“My pants fit, though.”

“They’re styled loose, with a drawstring waist. We’ve all put on a layer of insulation, this winter.”

Their winter diet was heavy in meat, bread and starch; and since Fenris began cooking, filled with desserts. Their activity had slowed considerably with the nearly constant storms. Fenris, with a smaller frame, held his weight more conspicuously then the rest of them.

“I’m fat? Elves don’t get fat.”

“No, love, you’re not fat. You’ve got fat. Everyone puts on weight in the winter. Even the stock.”

“Your clothes still fit you. Mina and Wil’s clothes still fit. Maybe I’m eating too much.”

“We’re used to a richer diet. You’re not.”

“After a lifetime of slave’s gruel, any food is rich,” Fenris grumbled.

“Exactly. We came here, you started eating Mutti’s food, and getting decent nutrition. Now, we’re stuck inside all winter, and your body doesn’t know what to do with all that food.” He sat up on the bed, and motioned Fenris close. With a grin, he pulled him under the covers, and ran his hands along the smooth, warm skin. The extra layer took away the hard knobs of his spine, the sharp edges of his hipbones.

He felt strangely proud of the fact that coming to his home had fed Fenris so well. “Look at my healthy elf, getting fed properly. Don’t worry about what you eat, Fenris. Enjoy your food. Make us delicious desserts. Come spring, you’re going to work it all off, again, anyway.”

He couldn’t stop kissing and touching the elf. Now that he’d paid attention, he was thoroughly enjoying Fenris’ new feel. Full, solid.

“You’ve put on weight, too,” Fenris said. “You were too skinny, for too long, with that demon of yours.” The elf’s hands were roaming and testing Anders’ slightly altered shape. With a grin, the elf declared, “We’re fat and happy.”

“You’ve got that right,” he chuckled. His chuckle became a moan when Fenris kissed him. Anders responded enthusiastically, letting the fever grow. He finally pulled away, and looked at the naked man stretched-out beneath him.

“Don’t make a sound, unless it’s your watch-word,” he whispered. With an eager expression, Fenris silently nodded.

Fenris had taken the lead in bed several more times since the first time; usually at Anders’ suggestion. He clearly still preferred his submissive role in sex, but was willing to change it up, occasionally. Anders knew that for the elf to enter his body was still a deeply significant act for Fenris, and took that into account with their activity.

In fact, it was during such a coupling that Fenris first used his watch-word. Anders had suggested they try mabari-style, and it hadn’t gone well. Just as they began to assume the position, with Anders on hands and knees, Fenris suddenly backed away, whispering ‘freedom’. It had simply reminded him too much of his experience with Danarius. Anders was happy he’d been able to use the watchword, but saddened to have suggested an activity that brought it about.

Now, with his mouth, his fingers, and his voice, Anders prepared the elf. Oil slicking the way, he stroked Fenris’ sweet spot, feeling his own arousal thrum madly at the sight of him silently writhing, biting back his cries, as pleasure overwhelmed him.

Rolling onto his own back, with Fenris gasping in his arms, he positioned the elf above him, and thrust up into his body. He saw Fenris struggle to hold back his voice, breathing hard, panting with the effort.

“I see how badly you want to cry out,” he whispered. “How much pleasure you feel.”

Riding the cock that impaled him, Fenris nodded wildly. His body shuddered with pleasure. Sitting up, Anders held him in place, and drove up into him.

“So good... you feel so good.” He was shaking now, too; the feel of the elf riding his cock, barely able to hold back his cries of pleasure, was intense. He wouldn’t last long. He shifted his angle until he got the reaction he wanted; Fenris’ body bowed backward, mouth open in a silent shout. Anders held him, thrusting hard, calling out with a harsh voice.

“Oh, Maker... Fenris, loose your voice....”

A loud, deep wail broke from the elf, then Fenris found his words. “Fill me... _ungh..._ touch me....”

Anders fumbled between them for Fenris’ shaft, spurred rapidly to his apex by the sound of the elf’s voice. “I’m coming, Fenris... coming....” tension in his loins wound tight and snapped, exquisite pleasure rolling through him as he pulsed within the elf, filling him with his heat.

He stroked Fenris madly, his climax making his motions erratic. With a final shout, the elf clutched him, with arms, legs, and ass, as he rocked through his orgasm. As his body calmed, Fenris fell against him, head lying on his shoulder, limbs wrapped about him. Anders felt the twitches of aftershocks run through the elf as he relaxed.

This was what he loved most; Fenris, pliant after their joining, clinging to him this way. He never felt more protective than in this moment. He pressed kisses into the elf’s neck and shoulder, holding him tight.

“Did I please you?” came the soft question.

“More than you could ever know. Did I please you?”

“Always.”

Reclining back, he took the elf with him, holding him atop his body, stroking his skin, his hair, smelling the intoxicating scent of him.

The elf’s sleepy voice reached his ears. “Regardless of why I’m too big for my clothes, I still need something to wear.”

Chuckling, Anders replied. “Wear my shirt, today. I’ll borrow one of Vati’s.”

Fenris chuckled. “I like wearing your shirts.”

“We’ll tell Mutti to stop making you your own clothes. She’ll just make more of mine, so you can steal them.”

With a sigh, Fenris said, “I like that idea.” In a moment, he was asleep.

Wil had happily handed over several shirts to Anders. He and Mina both felt the same way; they were delighted to have provided Fenris with his first over-abundance. Regardless, Fenris realized how sedentary he’d become, and began to add some exercise to his daily routine. During the storms, he stayed in the barn after chores, to run through drills with his sword or quarter-staff. Often, Wil or Anders would join him. It was hard being forced into idleness, and the exercise helped. Mina was impressed by the men’s activity, and wondered if she should join.

Wil picked her up, and covered her in kisses. “Get fat, my lovely wife. Get fat, and give me more of you to love.” Mina lapsed into giggles, that turned decidedly warmer, until Wil turned to carry her to their room. Anders was up, and in his room, in an instant. He was trying to accept the fact that his parents were sexual beings, but he still cringed whenever he heard evidence of it.

Fenris followed him, a pleased look on his face.

“What are you grinning about?” Anders asked, setting some herbs to simmer on his potions table.

“Your parents. They’ve been together so long, and yet are still passionate about one another.”

“Yeah. They have a good marriage. Believe me, I appreciate that fact. I just don’t want to hear it.”

Fenris snorted, and settled on their little couch. “Tomorrow’s Wintersend.”

“Yep. Don’t think there’ll be a celebration in the village, though.” Another storm was well under way. “I don’t think we’ve had more than two days clear weather between storms this winter.”

“I’ve enjoyed spending so much time, with all of us together,” Fenris said.

Anders looked at the elf. He really had seemed to like it. If Anders was honest, and why not? he’d enjoyed it, too. “You know, I spent almost twenty years trying to escape the prison of the Circle. But, being stuck in a single family home for an entire winter has been a breeze.”

“Perhaps it’s the company,” Fenris said.

“It’s absolutely the company.”

As it happened, the storm broke during the night. People from all over the community traveled in to the Village, and an impromptu Wintersend celebration began. As no black smoke appeared in the sky, Anders joined the family as they took the sleigh into the village. He could see that sentries had been posted to give warming on the first sign of clouds moving over the mountains.

The village was filled with people, some of whom hadn’t seen each other for the entirety of winter. Children ran amuck, excess energy bleeding off in play. Adults greeted one another joyously. People brought things to trade, as the store had run low, or out, of many goods. No deliveries had been able to get through since before Satinalia.

Anders heard of deaths that had occurred on some of the farther farms. People who hadn’t been able to get in to see Anders’ note, nor to hear of it from others. A cottage had burned down, killing a child and mother. A man had become disoriented returning from the barn, wandered into the storm, and perished. There were several farms that had lost stock in the severe weather.

Anders realized how lucky they had been. They had plenty of food, four able-bodied adults to tend to the house and stock, and had been healthy. He looked at his parents, chatting with other members of the Village; and at Fenris, talking with Schmidt. His gaze widened to encompass the entire village. He could see people arranging to share their extra stock with those who’d lost theirs, and to provide for those who’d lost family members. The father and remaining children of the house fire were being sent for, to be brought to Old Olaf’s place until other arrangements could be made in the spring.

Several families, whose crops and gardens hadn’t done well the previous year, had counted on supplementing their supplies at the now-empty store. He saw Schmidt and Wil head to a sleigh to gather food from both their farms, and bring it in to share. Several others farmers with extra supplies were doing the same.

This, Anders thought, was what the Maker had in mind when he created mankind. This was what life was supposed to be like. He felt a surge of pride in his community. He was proud to be part of it.

“Copper for your thoughts,” said his favorite voice in the world. He turned to Fenris’ smirking face, struck that, even after months of nearly constant close contact, he still wanted the elf in arm’s reach.

“This is a good place,” he said.

“I agree. Those in need are being helped. The people here take care of one another.”

“It’s an Anderfels habit. There’s no one else to provide aid, but your kith and kin.”

Fenris was looking at the activities around them, just as Anders had been. “Family is important. Community is important. These are things I’ve learned since coming here.”

“Me, too.”

After supplies had been brought back and shared-out, a rather quick prayer and singing of the Chant was done. Everyone made quick goodbyes, and headed home to do what needed doing before the next storm hit. It was several days before it came, and was short-lived. By the time Cloudreach came, the storms had ceased, and people began to prepare for spring.

“When is this snow going to melt?” Mina complained. “It just sits there, slowly seeping, turning the yard into a mud-bog.”

“You’ll be wanting it back by August, when you’re sweating through the night,” Anders reminded her. Fenris and Mina were preparing desserts to take to the Summerday celebration, the next day. The crops had gone into the ground late, this year, as the fields hadn’t cleared enough to plow until a month ago.

“Yes, I probably will. That doesn’t make it any less messy, now,” she countered.

Wil came through the door, grinning. “The mail came through! The roads are a mess, we hear. But, the store’s finally got goods, and you’ve got a package from a Captain Isabela, and a couple letters from Varric. And, my, Fenris, you have a letter from the Prince of Starkhaven!”

The package turned-out to be for Mina. A well-padded, lumpy wrapping, with a short note.

“From one woman of taste to another. No room for it on-board, and I know you’ll do it justice (Hah! Tell that to Anders). Enjoy! Isabela.”

Anders groaned. “Leave it to that dratted pirate....” His mother’s shrill squeal sent all three men’s hands to their ears.

“She’s given me the phallic mask!”

Indeed, his mother was gleefully holding up the obscene, golden, breast-eyed, penis-nosed mask from Orlais.

“Oh, Maker preserve us,” he lamented. Fenris was smirking, and Wil took it from his wife’s hands to admire.

“Wife, that contest is in the bag.”

Anders picked-up the two letters, and checked the dates. “Can you believe her? ‘Do it justice.’ She has no restraint.”

“I like that about her,” Mina said. “I think we would have been friends.”

“She seduces her friends, just like Hawke does. I don’t know about Vati, but I’d be a little unhappy to see you in bed with Isabela, Mutti.”

Wil and Mina both sputtered into laughter.

“Read the letters,” Fenris suggested, wrist deep in dough.

Anders sat perched backwards on the settee, and opened the letters. “Let’s see... the mission with the king and Isabela went well. I still can’t believe he went gallivanting about Antiva with the King of Ferelden. The things that dwarf gets caught up in... oh, says he can’t tell us much, because of its ‘sensitive nature’. When did that ever stop him? I’ll just wait for the book.

“Ummm... oh... Isabela’s left Kirkwall. She took her boat, and she’s off to sea. Well. I guess that’s what she meant by there was no room for the mask on-board. That pretty much leaves Varric all alone in the city, doesn’t it?”

“Aveline and Donnic are still there. And, Varric knows half the city.”

“Yeah, I suppose. Still, it’s kind of the end of an era, isn’t it? I mean, it was Hawke’s little group of misfits, for a long time.”

“Do you miss Kirkwall?” Fenris asked.

“That shithole? No. I spent five very bad years there. And, a final very tumultuous one. I’d love to see Varric, again. But, there’s nothing there for me. You? Feeling like you want to visit the old neighborhood?”

“No. Though, I’d also like to see Varric. And, Donnic. I’d like to see Sebastian, too, but he’s no longer there.”

“Good,” Mina said firmly. “I’ve grown used to having you boys around for the past two years. I’d just as soon you not decide to leave, again.”

“Two years? We’ve been here for two years?” Anders could hardly believe it.

“Yes, you have, my darling son. Two of the happiest years of my life.” Mina tried to keep control of herself, but then had to back away from the table to keep her tears from falling into the strudel filling. Anders grinned, and picked her up in a bear hug.

“Mine, too, Mutti,” he said, setting her back down. She fussed, straightening her apron.

“I just love my man-filled home. A husband and two fine sons. What more could I ask for?”

Fenris’ eyes went wide at being included as a son. Wil occasionally referred to him as ‘son’, but Anders didn’t think Mina had done it yet. He watched the small grin play at the corners of the elf’s mouth.

“Does that make Fenris my brother, Mutti? Because, if it does, then we’re doing some very wrong things, together.”

“You are an incorrigible upstart.”

“Where do you think I learned it?”

“Read the other letter,” Fenris said.

“OK. Ummmm... he says he hopes we’re not caught in the storms he’s heard about from Orzammar. Yes, Varric, we were. He talks about reparations still going on in Kirkwall. He’s actually paying for a lot of work to be done. I knew he loved that city, but, damn. I didn’t realize he had that much cash.”

“He’s a businessman,” Fenris reminded him. “He invested his share of the Deep Road’s expedition. He inherited all of Bartrand’s estate. He’s published a dozen books, including a couple best-sellers. If there’s one thing Varric knows, it’s money.”

“That, and bullshit.”

“Which goes a long way in making money.”

“I suppose you’re right. Let’s see... oh... there’s unrest in Orlais. Is there ever not unrest in Orlais? The Mage-Templar War is getting worse. Of course, it is. Fighting’s all over, it sounds like. He’s curious if we’ve had any trouble.”

Anders looked up at Fenris. “Do you think we’ll have any trouble? Here?”

Fenris shrugged. “We are far from the main roads. Farther even than most would go to avoid the main roads.”

“Yeah. I hope that holds true.”

“Anything else?”

“Wow, Fenris, listen to this. He says your mansion collapsed during the winter. Actually, I’m surprised it lasted that long.”

Fenris snorted. “Fitting, really.”

"Wait until the clean-up crews find the corpses in the basement. Do you want me to read the letter from Sebastian?”

“No. I’ll read it, later.”

“Cloudreach 9:39

“Dear Varric,

“Fine, don’t tell us about your adventures with the king and the pirate. I can’t believe you’re holding out on us. Well, I won’t tell you about the broody hen. Take that.

“I hope Wintersend found you well, alone as you seem to be, now. And, Isabella takes to the sea, once more. She’s left many a broken heart behind, I’m sure.

“As you surmised, winter was hard, this year. We were lucky. We had a good home, food, companionship. Enough that both Fenris and I got fat. There’s a first for either of us. We lost a couple members of the community during the storms, but it could have been much worse.

“We’ve had no trouble with mages or templars, in our area. We’re pretty well off of the beaten path, of course. What we hear of the War comes mostly from you. We’ll let you know if anything happens in our neck of the woods.

“Oh, Fenris wants me to tell you that the corpses in the basement were there when he moved in. Not in the basement, necessarily, but, you know what I mean.

“My mother says that, should you see Isabela, please thank her for the mask. That’s from my mother, mind you, not me.

“Stay in touch. If you ever find yourself in Ferelden, come for a visit.

“Maker watch over you,

“Anders.”

The Summerday festival was sunny, warm, and joyful. After so long and cold a winter, the welcoming of summer was a sigh of relief.

Anders listened to the nuptials, and looked at the way his parents smiled at one another as the vows were recited. They did that each year, as though reciting them, again, in their hearts. He saw Fenris watching them, too, and they both grinned.

It was a good celebration, and they drove home near dusk. The sunset was putting on its pageant, the fields just beginning to go green with new growth. As they crested the hill nearest their cottage, Fenris spoke.

“Wil, stop the wagon. I want to look to look at the sunset.”

Anders smiled to himself. Fenris often stopped in his work to marvel at small pieces of beauty he found. He’d been this way since making peace with the Maker last summer. A flower, a butterfly, a sunset, the stars. It was endearing, especially for the elf who barely acknowledged the world around him, several years ago.

They all left the wagon, and hiked toward a copse of apple trees at the top of the hill, still in bloom from the late spring start. The hill afforded a beautiful view of their farm, standing in silhouette against the vibrant red and gold of the sunset. Both couples stood arm in arm, taking in the view.

Anders looked at the man beside him. Delicate white petals drifted down around them. He reached a hand and brushed one from the snowy hair. Fenris was wearing a look of peace, an expression of... something.

“Copper for your thoughts....” he said.

Fenris quirked his half-grin. “You.”

“Ah.”

Fenris turned from the sunset’s beauty and looked at Wil and Mina.

“There’s something I wish to say to your son, that I’d like you to hear,” he said. Anders’ curiosity peaked. Fenris took his hands, and faced him. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and sincere.

“Anders... I would never ask you to join me in a union that was officiated by the Chantry. And, I’m still not sure just what marriage does for two people. But, I know that the Maker brought us together. I know that our paths are intertwined and have been for some time. You are the person I wish to spend my life with. You’re the one I wish to care for, and grow old with. I know I’m not an easy partner, and I may be more trouble than I’m worth. But, before the Maker who created this beauty, and in the presence of our family, I pledge myself to you. Heart and body and soul, for good or ill, until death parts us.”

Anders felt his knees go weak. He tried to answer, and no sound came from his open mouth. Fenris had just spoken vows to him? In the presence of the Maker and family, he’d spoken vows; not quite those spoken at Chantry nuptials, but more meaningful and potent. Anders knew, oh, he knew, how important this was. He was humbled and honored. And, completely overwhelmed. After a few false starts, his voice finally obeyed his summons.

“Fenris... Oh, Maker, Fenris.” His heart felt like it burst with joy. “I know the Maker brought us together. You are the beauty in my world. Walking this path with you has been the greatest thing I’ve ever done. I want to share my life, my family, and my future with you. Before the Maker, and in the presence of our family, I pledge myself to you. Heart and body and soul. For good or ill. Until death parts us.”

The glow in Fenris’ eyes had nothing to do with the setting sun. Anders pulled the elf into his shaking arms. Maker... they had just said vows to one another.

Sniffling behind them drew their attention. His parents stood with surprised awe written on their faces, tears in both their eyes. Wil spoke.

“Those were the sincerest nuptials I’ve ever witnessed. We couldn’t ask for a better son-in-law.” Wil pulled Fenris into an embrace. “We love you, Fenris. Like you were our own.” Anders suddenly had an armful of his weeping mother. And, then, Mina was throwing herself at Fenris while his father took him in a hug.

“Did that just really happen?” Anders asked, bewildered.

His father laughed. _"Ja,_ it did. You and Fenris exchanged vows before the Maker. You’re a married man, son."

Then, he was back in Fenris’ embrace, burying his face in the elf’s neck, inhaling the warm scent of his skin, and feeling his heart overflow to match his eyes.

“You’re a very sneaky elf,” he said thickly.

“Don’t you forget it,” came the gruff reply.

“I love you, Fenris. I will always love you.”

“And, I, you."

The two couples sat under the apple trees, with the white petals drifting down around them, to watch as the sunset faded into dusk. Anders was still overwhelmed. His gaze moved from the pageantry before them to the elf beside him. This man... this incredible man... had overcome his lifetime’s conditioning and pain to choose to join with him in a life-pledge. He trusted enough, was strong enough in himself, and loved enough, to exchange vows with him.

Feeling Anders’ gaze on him, Fenris turned to meet his eyes. He looked absolutely at peace. No hiding himself in blank expression, no darting gaze to avoid eye contact. How long had it been that Fenris was so open, so relaxed in himself?

His smile was still diffident, his laughter uncommon. But, Fenris was a man who had healed many of his inner wounds. Whose fears had been met, and defeated.

“You’re my mate,” Anders said.

“And, you’re mine.”

“You’re amazing,” Anders murmured. “As strong and beautiful inside, as out.”

Fenris’ soft smile warmed him. “I had an excellent example set for me. And, family who cared.” He looked back at the purpling sky, the stars just beginning to blink on. “And, the Maker watching over me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was hard to imagine Anders in a Chantry-ordained ceremony. Although my-canon Fenris couldn't wrap his mind around the formalized institution of marriage, he could get behind making a vow to someone he cared for. And, he simply spoke his honest feelings, from his heart. :-)
> 
> Some dirty Ander words:
> 
> Gross = big  
> Schwanz = cock, dick  
> Scheisse = shit  
> Fick dich = fuck you  
> Fotze = cunt
> 
> Personal note:
> 
> Although I wasn't a barmaid, it was I who broke a guy's nose. That was a fighting word....


	30. Family Feud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mages in the village cause a rift between father and son.
> 
> Fenris learns more of what being in a family means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple more Ander terms:
> 
> Du wagst = you dare
> 
> Dummkopf = idiot

Fenris was absolutely content with his life. It was summertime, the fields were in full growth, they were healthy, happy, and wanting for nothing. It was his favorite time of year. Hot sun, worthy labor... he’d lost the layer of fat the idle winter had given him. The three-year-old filly, Bela, was coming along nicely in training. Patience’s little yearling was healthy and strong. 

The letter from Sebastian had been troubling. Although the former Brother sounded sincerely happy for Fenris, much of his reply concerned matters of State and military. Fenris saw that the Prince was beginning to overpower the Priest. He was saddened by that. Finally, saying a prayer for Sebastian’s well-being, he left his concerns in the Maker’s hands.

He and Wil were building a water tower. He’d described the ones he’d seen on farmlands in Tevinter. They were useful for running water to the house, the barn, the garden, and in the case of a fire. Wil and he decided a small one would be a good investment, and a trial for others to determine if they would like to do the same. Schmidt had liked the idea, and was coming by in the evenings to help. If theirs was worth the effort, they’d help him with his.

He was up high, now, and from his vantage point, could see far and wide. He’d already decided he’d build a platform, as a balcony of sorts, after the tower was up. The only thing he’d missed about Kirkwall had been that balcony. This would do nicely. The tower was about twice as high the barn, and from the top, the village could almost be seen on a clear day. 

He saw a rider on the road from the village. Anders, he decided. He recognized Patience’s smooth, lazy gallop. As they approached, he found himself watching the easy grace with which the healer rode. Fenris had developed a good seat, himself, but Anders and his father both had an understated grace that their long limbs conveyed in motion; dancing, riding, running, sparring. Anders was good with the quarter-staff. He’d likely never approach the skill-level of Wil and Fenris, but he could certainly hold his own with the average trouble he might come across in the surrounding area. Fortunately, there wasn’t much trouble to be found. 

A long pole thwacked upside his head, startling him. He caught it with his hand, and looked down to see Wil smirking up at him from several levels down.

“Mind on your work, or your spouse?” Wil and Mina both took any opportunity to use such words. Fenris liked to run his favored terms through his mind in sentences: Anders was his spouse; he enjoyed kissing his mate; his life-mate was beautiful. Both parents had been utterly thrilled with the exchange of vows they’d made, impromptu as they’d been. Fenris had toyed with the idea of participating in the matrimonial at Summerday, but couldn’t quite get to a comfortable place in his head with it. 

But, the one thing he knew he needed to do, was pledge himself to Anders. He supposed he didn’t _need_ to do it, per se, but he wanted to. He wanted Anders to know that he was not running, again. That he was devoted to him, his family, and their life together. The sunset over the farm had simply made it all clear. He’d found the Maker under such a sunset sky. He still did. 

Wil and Mina both told the story to friends with pride and love. Same gender marriages officiated by the Chantry were uncommon, but not unheard of. The idea of two men making vows in private, with the Maker and family as witness, seemed perfectly right. Congratulations, and even gifts, had been forthcoming for weeks after. 

He smirked down at his father-in-law. “Spouse, until you cracked my skull.” 

“Takes a better hit than that to crack that hard head,” Wil retorted. 

Mina came out of the cottage, and squinted up at them. “Wil, did I just see you wallop Fenris with that pole?”

 _“Nein,”_ Wil said.

“Yes,” Fenris said.

“Don’t you lie to me, Wil. I will turn you over my knee and paddle you, so help me.”

Fenris snorted. “That’s hardly a threat, Mina. Look at him grin.”

Wil’s smiled faded as he looked at Anders’ approach. “He’s pushing her hard... something’s wrong.”

It was true, Patience didn’t look like she was moving fast at a distance, but as they closed-in on the farm, it was clear that she was covering ground. Wil and Fenris came down off the tower, and met Anders in the yard. 

Out of breath, Anders kept her walking in circles to cool down. “There’s a group of mages holed up in Olaf’s old place,” he said. “neighbors saw smoke, and went to check. Three or four, barricaded inside.”

“Apostates,” Wil and Fenris both growled.

“Undoubtedly. That might explain some of the missing food and clothes people have reported,” Anders said. “The Council’s meeting at Schmidt’s.”

“Rub her down, son. I’ll hitch up the wagon.”

Fenris listened to the Council’s discussion with interest. Olaf’s place had been vacant since the family left homeless by a fire had moved out in spring; an irresistible invitation to a group of people on the run. The thought of apostates so close the people of Ratspitz had most of the Council in a near panic. Anders did his best to calm them down. They’d asked his opinion, given his experience with mages. 

“Odds are, they won’t try to hurt anyone. Let me approach them on my own. They’ll trust me.”

Fenris saw Wil’s face fill with dismay. _“Nein,_ Erich. I cannot allow it. We cannot trust them. There are other ways, that won’t put you in danger.”

“What ways are those, Vati?”

Wil and Glina were in favor of simply burning them out, and Fenris thought that might work, as well. Anders was horrified. 

_“Burn them out?_ You could kill them!”

“Odds are, they’ll leave the building,” Wil said. “It’s a safe way to get them out of their hiding place with minimal danger to the rest of us.”

“I wouldn’t count on them leaving the building; they know there are things worse than death. And, if they _do_ leave the house under duress, they’re going to be fighting for their lives.”

“Then, we have Schmidt standing by, to pick them off as they come out,” Wil countered.

“You can find another archer,” Schmidt said. “I’ll not shoot an innocent man.”

“They’re not innocent,” Wil said. “They’re mages. And, I’ll not see Erich killed on some fool’s errand.” 

Anders rose from his seat, fury such as Fenris had never seen on his face. When he spoke, his voice was hard.

“I was once one of them. Is that how you’d have dealt with me, when I was nothing more than tired and hungry?”

“Sit down, Erich,” Wil ordered.

 _“I will not._ How many more faces do you want to see during your prayers, Vater? Is it that you mourn them, or relish them?”

Wil’s face flooded with pain. _“Erich....”_

“ _Anders!”_ Fenris stood, heart pounding, and took him by the arm. He’d seen and heard more than enough. This nightmare was stopping, now.

Schmidt was steering Wil toward the door. “Let’s get them outside. Glina, Tena... excuse us a moment.”

“What are you thinking, saying that to Wil?” Fenris asked. “Are you _trying_ to hurt him?”

“Hurt _him?_ What about _me?_ Didn’t you hear him, Fenris?”

 _“Ja,_ we heard him, _junge,”_ Schmidt said. “I don’t agree with his plan, but I’ll not stand by as you taunt your own _vater_ with his pain.”

“I can fight my own battle, Schmidt,” Wil said irritably.

 _“Ja,_ just as you did on the steppes.”

Wil glared at his friend in disbelief. _“Du wagst!”_

 _”Schmidt!”_ Fenris exclaimed. He was nearly in a panic, watching as father, son, and friend hurled hateful words at each other. His world was falling apart around him. _What was happening?_

“You let me handle the _dummkopf,”_ Schmidt said. “He gets righteous and stupid, from time to time.”

“Schmidt, shut your mouth,” Wil warned. 

“You told me you asked forgiveness every night,” Anders accused Wil. “You said there was no excuse for what you did. Was it all a lie? Just a convenient cover until you met another mage?” 

“I meant _every word_ I spoke, Erich. I feel the shame of what I did, _every day.”_

_“Then, why?”_

“We have heard the stories of what mages are doing. You cannot trust them! You think yourself immune to their danger, but you are as vulnerable as anyone. More so, because you think them harmless!”

“You don’t know that they’re a danger to anyone! I can talk to them....”

“It’s not a risk I’m willing to take!”

 _“You_ don’t have to take it. I will!” 

Anders turned to stalk away, but before he took three steps, Fenris had him around the torso, his arms pinned to his sides. 

Schmidt shook his head. “Looks like the son gets as righteous and stupid as the father.”

“My son is not stupid, Schmidt,” Wil said, wheeling on his friend. His face bore the same fury Anders’ had. “As the Maker is my witness, I am this close to....”

“You ready to dance, old friend?” Schmidt took a fighting stance. “Come on, then. Bring it.”

“Touch my father and I’ll kick your ass, Schmidt!” Anders was struggling to shake Fenris loose, still clasped in his hold. 

“You and what army, little man?”

“I don’t need an army, I’ve got Fenris! Dammit, elf, let me go!”

“I’d say Fenris has you. Sure you don’t need that army?”

“Fenris, let him go,” Wil said, clearly at his wit’s end.

“You don’t know how big an idiot he can be, Wil.” Fenris finally understood what was happening. “I’ve seen the stupidity he’s capable of.” 

_“What the Void?”_ Anders cried. 

“Mate or no, you’ll _not_ speak so about my son!”

Anders finally tore out of his grasp, and stumbled into his father. Wil righted him, and they stood glaring at Schmidt and Fenris.

“What the Void is wrong with you?” Anders wailed at them.

“I mean it,” Wil growled. “Either of you maligns my boy again, I will bring a world of hurt.”

“You wouldn’t really fight Schmidt, would you?” Anders asked Wil in disbelief.

“I don’t want to, but he’s begging for... _ach... Schmidt, you bastard.”_ Wil scowled at his friend.

The archer had his arm over Fenris’ shoulders, as they watched father and son interact. 

“Next time you two decide to attack each other, remember how quickly you stood in defense of one another,” Schmidt said.

“He’s frightened, Anders,” Fenris said. “Don’t accuse him... talk to him.”

Anders’ jaw dropped. “This was all an act?”

 _“Nein,_ not all of it. Wil does get righteous and stupid.”

“Schmidt, you’re on _very_ thin ice,” Wil said.

Anders finally turned to Wil. “Vati... how can you advocate killing those mages? After what you told me?”

Wil’s face was tortured. “I would see a thousand faces of men I’d killed, before I would see yours among those I’ve lost.”

Fenris saw that Anders understood the fear Wil labored under. “They’re people, Vati, just like you and me.”

“They are people, _ja,_ but they’re not like you and me. They can kill with a thought.” 

“Well... not quite. But, you have to trust me. You have to have faith.”

Wil was struggling, it was clear. Finally he nodded. “I don’t trust them. But... I trust you, son. We’ll find another way.”

Fenris felt Schmidt squeeze his shoulder. It was over. He took a huge breath and exhaled. He’d never been so terrified. His family had seemed on the verge of falling apart before his very eyes. He bent over, hands on his knees, and tried to calm himself.

“Fenris,” Anders’ voice, gentle again. He was pulled upright. “It’s alright, love.” 

“You scared me,” he accused. He looked at Wil. “You both did. You can’t speak to each other that way. You’re _family.”_

“We were both upset. It doesn’t mean we--”

“I don’t care! I thought... you just can’t _do_ that. Wil, I mean you, too. No more.”

“I’m sorry, love. It’s alright, now. Vati and I can work around our different opinions.” 

“Good,” Schmidt grumbled. “Because both your plans are shit.”

 _“Schmidt!”_ father and son snapped.

“Well, he’s right,” Fenris sighed. “They are.”

Wil rolled his eyes. “We’ll take a more moderate view. Agreed, son?”

Anders held out his hand to his father. As they clasped hands, he nodded. “Agreed.”

In the end, it was decided that Anders would approach the mages, with Fenris at his side, and Schmidt up a tree with his bow trained on the house. Wil would remain outside, close to the door, should help be needed, but would not approach otherwise.

It was just as Anders had suspected. There were three mages, who looked like they were barely out of puberty, huddled in the house. They were reluctant to answer Ander’s hails, until he assured them he’d been a mage; turning to show them the Tranquil brand. At that, the door had cracked open.

Dirty, ragged, tired, they looked like any boy running about the Village. Judging by their speech, Fenris guessed them to be from the Free Marches.

“If you’ve got the brand, why aren’t you Tranquil?” The de facto leader asked. He seemed to be older than the other two, but not by much.

Anders shrugged. “I lost my magic, but not my emotions. Some brandings fail, Cullen said.”

“Knight Captain Cullen?” asked another, receiving an elbow to the ribs.

Anders nodded. Dropping Cullen’s name had been no accident on his part. “Look, I’ve spent years on the run from the templars. I know what you’re going through. But, the people in this village aren’t going to just let you hide in their midst. The Mage-Templar War has people terrified.”

“We’re not blood mages! We don’t want to hurt anybody! We had to leave the Circle after the battle. All we wanted was to rest a while. We’re going to the Hinterlands. We’ve heard a group of mages is building up, there. You’ll help us, won’t you? You know what it’s like....”

Even Fenris could see the desperate hope in their eyes.

“Damn right, I will. Let me call-in one of the Council members.” 

Wil stopped short upon entering the room, surprise on his face.

The three boys stood respectfully. It was easy to see a young Anders in their dirty faces, and their ragged Circle robes.

“You’re just children,” he said softly.

“I’m almost fifteen, serrah,” said the oldest, proudly.

“That old, then,” Wil said, and sighed.

“They stopped to rest,” Anders said. “They plan to move on. They could use some supplies to help them on their way.”

Wil’s eyes still roamed the boys’ faces. After a moment, he nodded. “We’ll bring supplies for you. You can stay the night, but then you need to be on your way.”

Their faces lit up. “Thank you, serrah!”

“I’ll go make arrangements.” 

Fenris was surprised by the ease with which it was handled. By evening, three packs filled with food and supplies were dropped on the doorstep. By dawn, the house was empty. Several trackers kept pace with the departing mages for half a day, ensuring they had, indeed, left the community without trouble. Fenris was just glad they were gone. Through no true fault of their own, they had been the catalyst for a dispute such as he’d never experienced.

Wil’s distrust of mages, and his fear of again losing his son, had come head to head with Anders’ ingrained need to protect mages at any cost. 

“I know I was rash, thinking I could just walk up to them. They could have been willing to attack on sight. I just....”

“Wanted to help.” Fenris finished. They lay in bed, talking about the events, now that the mages were gone. 

“Not just that. You and Vati made me so angry. I wanted to prove you both wrong. I wanted to march up to that house and show everyone they weren’t dangerous. I was the idiot you said I could be.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Anders. I said that to play along with the ruse. You’re very smart. And, it turned out you were right. They weren’t dangerous.”

“They could have been. But, that doesn’t excuse you wanting to burn them out. You and Vati... Maker. I love you both, and I try to understand both of your histories, but sometimes it’s not easy hearing the things you say.”

“Your first instinct is to trust them, and mine and Wil's is to distrust them.”

"Well, now I see most of Vati's attitude comes from fear, not hate. You pointing it out made him see that, too. You're pretty smart, yourself, elf. It's still hard, but... and, at least he sees mages as people."

"I'm sorry it's so hard for you, living with us. If you both agreed with slavery, I don't know how I'd react."

"I think that's a bit different. But, love, that's about the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Thank you." Anders sighed, then. “I’m just glad Schmidt’s as conniving as he is. Things were going off-track, pretty quick.”

“He confused me, at first. I thought my world was falling apart.”

“Oh, love. You have to understand... families argue, sometimes. Remember Carver and Hawke? Look at you and I, especially right after I lost my magic. There will always be differences, and living with them means they’ll bubble up. It doesn’t mean we don’t love each other.”

“I don’t like it. I gave up battle, remember.”

Anders’ smile warmed him through, and he let himself be pulled into an embrace and soft kiss. “We’re all still learning one another. Especially Vati and I.”

“Is this how one kisses and makes up?” Fenris asked, nuzzling for another kiss.

“Well, we’re already made up... but, we can practice for later.”

Fenris smirked. He always liked to be prepared.

The incident was gossiped heavily throughout the Village, for days. Apostate mages had been in their village, and done no harm. They hadn’t even been blood mages. Their own ex-mage and Grey Warden, Erich, had convinced them to leave, requiring only some supplies and food. The entire community was delighted with the outcome. 

That is, until templars tracked the mages to the Village several weeks later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another event that I felt could be fleshed-out. Father and son may always battle this issue, in some form, but they're beginning to understand what drives each other's point of view. Thanks to Schmidt and Fenris. 
> 
> Poor Fenris... this was traumatic for him. Like Varric warned Anders, "Family is some tricky shit."


	31. The Maker's Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Templars in the Village brings tragedy and change.

Again, it was a horse and rider coming hard that caught their attention. A teenaged girl, coming straight across the fields, taking fences and fallen logs at full speed on her mount, reigned her horse to a near-sit in front of their cottage.

“Templars in the village,” she gasped. “They’re angry, and accuse us of harboring apostates. I was sent for you.”

All three men were on their mounts in moments, not bothering with full tack. Fenris and Anders both knew what templars in a fit of righteous peak could do. There were some ex-soldiers in the community, certainly, but these people were farmers, merchants, families. They rode hard.

Fenris knew something was amiss as soon as they lay eye on the templars. There were two, both men, both... off. Dismounting at the edge of the village, they approached the turmoil carefully.

The armor was templar, the attitude was templar, but something didn’t sit right. A man traveling in pursuit of fugitive expected to get dirty. These two were beyond filthy. Their uniform skirts were tattered. Their eyes were unfocused, not hyper-vigilant in the way lyrium-enhanced templars tended to be.

“I think they’ve gone rogue,” Anders muttered.

Right now, they were brandishing their weapons casually, demanding to know where the mages were hidden. A small group of villagers were huddled, trapped, into a corner of the buildings, clearly terrified. Shaking their heads, they murmured that they didn’t know where the mages were.

Suddenly, one of the templars reached out, and grabbed a woman by the arm, dragging her to him. It was Nia, the elven woman who’d cared for old Olaf in his dying years. She was heavily pregnant, and nearly ready to birth. Screaming in fear, she fought his hold, but he was far too strong. Putting his blade to her throat, he said, “Tell us where they are, or this knife ear bitch and her whelp both die.”

As Fenris, Anders, and Wil bolted forward, Nia’s husband lunged out of the group of villagers toward his wife, and was impaled on the second templar’s blade. Nia’s scream was cut short by the blade at her throat. Her dress-front was suddenly drenched in red.

Fenris was aglow. In seconds, he’d reached the templars, and gone elbow-deep through their backs, hearts crushed in his fists. As they fell, the crowd rushed to the fallen husband and wife, crying out in horror. Anders was kneeling next to Nia, hands at her throat, agony on his face. Fenris was no healer, but he knew there was nothing that could be done for either one. Nia’s husband had been dead before he hit the ground. Nia, herself, was already unconscious, lying in an impossibly large pool of her own blood. In less than a moment, she was gone.

Anders suddenly scrambled at her skirt. “Fenris! Your dagger... it’s sharpest. I need blankets and towels. And, someone find Tena. Now!”

People ran to obey his commands as Fenris handed over his blade. He understood then, what he was trying to do.

“Son, can you save it?” Wil was beside the healer as he finally bared Nia’s stomach.

“Maybe. I’m sure as hell going to try.” As Anders sliced into the fallen mother to save the baby within, a stack of towels and blankets were shoved into Fenris’ arms. He knelt next to Anders with them.

“Open several in your arms, be ready to take the baby.”

“What... me?”

But, Anders was already reaching within the child’s sanctuary, and carefully manipulating something with his hands. Then, as the entire village fell silent in watchful awe, a tiny, naked, wet being was gently pulled from its mother. Carefully, Anders laid her on the towels in Fenris’ arms.

She, for it was clearly a girl, seemed to not be aware of the change in her situation. Curled tightly, eyes closed, she looked as though she slept.

Fenris supported her as Anders anxiously rubbed her chest and thumped her feet, talking softly the entire time.

“Come on, little one... breathe... you can do it... those bastards aren’t getting you, too... breathe... breathe.... breathe....”

With a convulsive spasm, the little body moved. Anders was sliding a finger into her tiny mouth, and extracting a glob of mucus. Finally, with a hiccup of a breath, the baby opened her mouth and wailed.

The entire gathering heaved a sigh. The baby’s parents had just been brutally murdered, but the child would live. Bittersweet pain and relief swept the close-knit village.

Fenris watched Anders with as much awe as everyone else. He’d watched as this tiny life had been literally snatched from death by his mate’s own hands. He’d seen her draw breath, nearly at his command. If he’d ever doubted that the Maker worked through others, that doubt was laid to rest. This was nothing short of a divine miracle.

Anders had tied the umbilical and cut it. He was cleaning the baby, drying her with the towels she lay on. Then, wrapping her in a blanket, he told Fenris to keep hold of her.

“Anders... I don’t know anything about babies.” He carefully clutched at the squalling newborn.

“You’re doing fine. Elves are very scent oriented when they’re born. She needs to smell you.”

“Smell me?”

Anders stood, and helped Fenris up as well. As they turned away from the grisly sight of the baby’s parents, they met the wrinkled old face of the ancient mid-wife, Tena. Her eyes were nearly invisible in the wrinkles of her tear-soaked, smiling face.

“Fine work, young healer,” she said. “Couldn’t have done it better myself.” She looked at the body of the young woman, lying next to her husband. “Poor Nia. She was so looking forward to this child. This was wrong. Those templars were not working for the Maker, as they ought.”

“We don’t have anyone to nurse her,” Anders said, his focus on the one patient he’d been able to save.

“You’re right. An elven infant will only feed from another elf.”

Fenris was confused. “You mean you saved her, only to let her die?” Taking a newborn on a rough wagon or horseback ride to the nearest settlement would take more than a day. Finding a town with elves, particularly a female elf, that was currently nursing, and willing to take on a newborn infant from a stranger... nearly impossible.

“Nope,” said Tena. “That baby’s going to live. Nia lost her family in an alienage plague. Her man was an orphan. That baby’s alone, but we’re going to give her every fighting chance she’s got,” she said fiercely.

Anders turned to Wil, who was already directing the covering and removal of Nia and her husband for funeral preparation. Wil waved him on, and Tena led them toward her little house down the street, leaning heavily on her walking stick. Fenris followed, carrying the baby carefully.

Tena continued talking as she showed them into her home. “A human babe will suckle at any teat thrown its way. An elf has more refined senses.”

“There are no other elves in the area. She’ll die if she doesn’t nurse, soon.”

The old woman smiled. “That’s where you’re wrong. We have a healthy young elf, right here.”

Anders had furrowed his brow. “What... Fenris? What good is he?”

“Let an old woman teach you a trick or two.”

As Tena bustled about her kitchen, Fenris stood with the baby still in his arms. She was a squalling, red-faced mess. He didn’t like the sound of the midwife’s implications, that he could somehow be a solution to this baby’s problem. He spoke quietly to Anders.

“What does this woman think that I can do?”

“I don’t know,” Anders said. He was looking at the child with worry in his eyes. “But, we have to try something... anything.”

“This midwife is not a mage, is she? I will not allow blood magic to... give me breasts, or something.”

Anders actually smiled through his concern. “No, Fenris. She’s not a mage. She’s just a very wise old woman who may be able to save this baby’s life.”

“Just because I’m an elf doesn’t mean I have some special affinity with it. I know nothing about infants and their care.”

Anders looked at him, pointedly. “Do you want her to die, Fenris?”

The blunt question caught him off guard. “No... of course I don’t.”

“She just lost her mother and father. We have to try, whatever this is. You saw what happened today. I’m damned if I’ll let those templars kill this baby, too. Whatever we do, it doesn’t have to be forever. Just until we can make other arrangements.”

Fenris frowned, but finally nodded. He was not happy, but Anders was right. Two too many had died today, in a senseless attack. The baby would live.

In a short time, Tena directed Fenris to sit. He awkwardly lowered himself onto a chair. The swaddling had ridden up over the baby’s face. When he reached to pull the blanket down, a tiny hand grasped his finger. The crying abruptly ceased, and he watched in amazement as the scrunched, red face simply opened like a flower. Huge, round eyes regarded him calmly as he stared back in fascination.

Tena approached him with a hollow cow’s horn. It had a small hole drilled in the tip, to allow the warmed milk inside it to be slowly drained. Placing the horn in his hand, she showed him how to hold it, so that the baby could suckle at the tip. With a few starts and stops, and a little repositioning... the infant fed. He saw Anders put a hand to his forehead in relief, then share an embrace with the midwife. Then he was drawn away to discuss the plan and procedure. Fenris looked back at the baby in his arms, now feeding quietly from the cow’s horn.

He was in a state of astonishment, simply to be holding and feeding a baby. This was a first he’d never even considered. She was so small. How could a person be so small? He was scared he would crush her, just holding her. He could barely feel her weight in his arm. Her little mouth was busily sucking at the horn tip, making little ‘nuk-nuk-nuk’ sounds as she drank. Her cobalt blue eyes stared up and into his, giving him the strangest feeling that she was evaluating him. Did babies think? What did they think? Did she believe him to be her parent? Did she know her mother and father had just died? Had she sensed it in the womb? If she had, what did she feel about that?

In a short while, the baby gave up nursing, and fell asleep. He held the horn, not sure what to do, at this point.

“She’s not going to take a lot, at first. She’ll need to eat more frequently, in the beginning,” Tena said, taking the horn from him.

“Now what?” Fenris asked, wiping a bit of milk from the baby’s chin.

“Well, now that we know she’ll feed from you, we take her home,” Anders said. “Feed her. Keep her healthy. Tena’s going to make up some supplements to add to the milk. Livestock milk doesn’t have all that she needs. A wet nurse would be so much better, but no use wishing for what we can’t have. Hopefully, we can find an elven woman to take her.”

Fenris nodded absently, looking down at the sleeping infant. When she wasn’t crying, she was rather sweet, like a baby foal or calf. Anders had his hands on his back and shoulders, helping him stand.

“You want me to take her?” He asked.

Surprisingly, he didn’t. “No. She just settled down. I don’t want her to start squalling, again.” Anders smirked at him. “Stop it.”

As they left the midwife’s home with a supply of feeding horns, they saw a crowd gathering around the bodies of the templars. Nia and her husband had been taken away. The Council members tried to answer questions and calm fears. Wil’s gaze lifted to meet his son’s, and the crowd turned to look at them. Wil gestured him forward.

Anders went to the front of the crowd. “These were rogue templars. I’ve had correspondence that told of them. Many templars have left the control of the Chantry, and are running loose after apostates. I’ve heard that some have attacked civilians, as well.”

People began asking questions, fear in their voices.

“I don’t know if more will come. I would doubt it. I think the village and farmers should set up sentries on the road and four quarters to watch for travelers. At the least, we can be aware of any activity, and avoid another tragedy like this.”

The Council was nodding their heads as one. Anders spoke to his father, and they both walked toward Fenris. “Schmidt’s driving us home. The baby shouldn’t be on horseback, just yet.” Anders peered under the blanket at the still sleeping child. “Mutti’s going to go crazy over this baby.”

“Good. Anders, I really have no idea what I’m doing, just holding her.”

“Well, I offered to take her. It’s not my fault you’re getting all maternal, already.”

“I am not maternal,” he growled.

“They’re cremating her parents tomorrow morning. Do you want to come?”

“Yes. She should be there, too.” He didn’t know if she’d ever know, but Fenris simply felt the child should be present when her parents were committed to the Maker. They headed home for his first night as a wet nurse.

It was the worst night of his life.

Well, perhaps that was overstating it. He’d had worse nights, as a slave in Danarius’ household. Apart from that....

The baby ate every two hours, or so. Anders had failed to mention that. She announced her hunger with heart-stopping cries that yanked him from sleep. She peed herself constantly. Eating, sleeping, peeing, crying... that’s all this little terror did.

Fortunately, he had help. Mina and Anders got up with her, and did the diaper changing and heating of the milk. Fenris really only needed to feed her. He was tired, and had no idea what he was doing, and she didn’t always want to take the horn right away. Apparently, sometimes she had something to say, and was damned well going to say it before she stopped her caterwauling and fed.

By dawn, he was exhausted. Mina took pity on him, and coddled him; and he let her. She fussed over him, and told him how well he was doing, and how proud she was of him. It felt good to hear it; all night long he’d been sure he’d done everything wrong. She brought him breakfast, and took the baby to burp--another fascinating fact of baby care he hadn’t needed to know--while he ate.

“How did you do it, Mina? It’s been twelve hours, and I’m ready to collapse. How did you do it with just you and Wil, and still having to cook and do housework?”

Mina, just as tired, smiled. “I had my mother and many friends to help me. And, nursing isn’t as time-consuming as feeding her this way. No milk to warm, no horns to clean. Don’t worry, Fenris. Between the four of us, we can give her everything she needs.”

“Except her parents.”

Tears filled Mina’s eyes. “Yes. Except for her parents.”

The funeral was heart-rending. Fenris stood with his family, Mina holding the baby, and prayed with the rest. The infant’s parents should never have been cut down the way they were. This child should be waiting for her own clock to decree the time of her birth, not have been cut from her mother’s dead body. Fenris felt a kinship for her, not knowing her family, alone in a world of strangers.

But, not a alone in a village of well-wishers. After the funeral, everyone wanted to extend their thanks for what Anders had done, and what Fenris was now doing. Tena had brought the powders to add to the milk. She also suggested they find a nanny goat, as some babies have trouble with cow’s milk over time. A farmer who raised goats was standing nearby, and offered to trade a milk goat for one of their calves. Wil immediately agreed. Lera, whose own baby was now over a year old, tried nursing her at Mina’s behest, just to be sure. Fenris, crossing his fingers, saw the baby fuss and refuse. Mina took her back from Lera.

“It’s well-known that elven babes won’t nurse except from another elf,” Anders repeated to Fenris. “If she was half-elf, this wouldn’t be a problem, but she’s not, so here we are. I wouldn’t put you through this, if I wasn’t certain.”

“We’d better get home, then,” he sighed. “She’ll be crying for her next feeding, soon.”

“Here comes Vati. We’ll head out, now.”

Wil described the plan the Council had put into motion. Tall watch-stations were being put up, starting today. One on the main road, and one at each of the four directions. No one seen making toward the village and farms would be challenged by a watcher. A large signal fire could be lit, if it looked like trouble. Or, the watcher would simply ride in and inform a Council member of what was happening. There were already a number of volunteers.

“I would, but....” Fenris said, yawning. He jerked his head toward the infant sleeping in Mina’s arms.

“I would, but I don’t want to leave Vati without help for long stretches.”

Wil chuckled. “I ran this farm for two decades on my own, son. Olaf’s, as well, for a time. I can spare you for a few hours.”

The baby’s cries started a short way from home. Sitting on the settee, giving her the newly fortified milk, Fenris felt like he was beginning to get the hang of it. Eight or nine feedings, and he was getting the feel for how to hold her most comfortably. He knew what angle of the horn she seemed to prefer. At the first drink of goat’s milk with the fortifying powders added, she drew her brows together as though frowning, and he waited for the refusal and crying to commence. Apparently, she liked it, and began drinking heartily.

When she finished, he handed her back to Mina, walked into his bedroom, and collapsed. He was awakened by Anders in a few hours for another feeding. And, so went his life for several weeks. As he slowly became accustomed to his on and off sleep schedule, he began to see the effect her presence was having on the others in the house.

He realized Mina actually managed most of the baby’s care. She rocked her, changed her, prepared most of the horns. She’d set up a laundry basket as a basinet, and dug a number of Anders’ old baby clothes and blankets out of a trunk in her room. She fussed over her, and positively glowed as she talked to her. He was relieved that the child had a soft, loving adult in the house. Fenris was certainly not that.

Watching Anders with her was nearly as strange. He’d seen him on the occasion with babies in the village, and even in his clinic. This child... he seemed to extend special sweetness to her. In fact, his expression was almost sad, he was so tender. Then, something occurred to the elf.

“You feel bad because you couldn’t help her mother, don’t you?” Anders sighed, holding the infant as she slept after her feeding.

“Yes. If I’d had magic, I could have healed her. Not her husband, perhaps, but I’ve brought even you back from as bad an injury as Nia had.” Now that he’d admitted it, the regret on his face was clear.

“If you still had magic, you wouldn’t have been here to heal her when the Templars came. And, you wouldn’t have been able to save the child by taking her from her mother’s body.”

Anders shrugged. “Tena might have been able to. She’s been midwifing for over 50 years. There’s not much she doesn’t know, and hasn’t done.”

“But, she couldn’t have fed the baby. Only you, bringing me here, did that.”

Frowning, Anders thought. “Maybe you’re right. It’s just so hard to lose a patient, Fenris. I go over and over in my mind what I could have done differently. Her throat was cut... nothing short of magic could have healed her. It’s hard not to go there.”

“Justinian 9:39

“Dear Varric,

“I hope all is well with you.

“I said I’d keep you apprised of any encounters with mages or templars in the village. A small group of apostates come through the village a few weeks ago. We managed to move them along peaceably enough. The templars that followed, unfortunately, were another story.

“Clearly no longer under Chantry control, they killed a young couple with no provocation. Fenris crushed both their hearts, and we were thankfully able to save their unborn child. She’s without kin, and as the only other elf in the village, Fenris has taken on the task of feeding her.

“We have no idea if there’s someone in the Chantry who wants to be notified of rogue templars, or not. We cremated their bodies, may they rot in the Void for all eternity; but, neither had any identification on them.

“We’ve set-up watch posts to warn the community of any further strangers coming to the village. Hopefully, that was the last.

“Maker watch over you,

“Anders.”

He and Anders rarely had time awake, together. Fenris slept when the baby slept, and she barely did that. No, that wasn’t true. She slept all the time, just in short bursts, and he had a hard time acclimating. He felt like he didn’t know if it was day or night, sometimes. How long since he’d last spoken to Anders about anything not baby-related? How long since they’d had sex? His greatest pleasure, now, was collapsing onto their bed for a few, blessed, hours of sleep.

He staggered back to their room after a midnight feeding, smelling his unwashed self, smelling goat’s milk, smelling spit-up. Shucking his clothes, he crawled under the blankets next to Anders, closed his eyes, and slept.

He was awakened by pleasure... _friction..._ just right.... He cracked his eyelids to see Anders gazing back through half-lidded eyes. The healer was moving his very hard erection against Fenris’ own. With a surprised moan, he clutched the man’s hips, and pulled him closer.

 _“Venhedis....”_ Either they’d been at it for a while, or he was simply that needy. He thrust intently.

“Uh-huh....” Anders was as aroused as he.

With no finesse, no lubricant, they ground their cocks together. Grunts, groans, pants.... Anders rolled on top of the elf, held him down, and rutted. So... good.

Fenris sank his nails into Anders’ ass, pulling him against him, moving them forcefully, It had been so long.

 _“... ungh..._ good....”

“... harder....”

Skin rubbing skin. Panting breath. Fingernails scratching. Heat, pleasure, tension.

A whine, deep in his throat. “... more.....”

“Close... close....”

Jaw clenched, Fenris growled as he fought for his dwindling control. The pressure was rising, the need at a peak...

His mind blanked as his body unravelled. He thrust mindlessly as he spent himself, gasping. He felt Anders, still riding his need, thrusting against him wildly, his juices making him slick. With a jagged moan, he came, spilling himself between them.

Before Anders had moved off of him, Fenris was asleep, again. They chuckled, later, neither knowing who’d started their little tryst. They agreed it was simply their bodies, taking matters into their own hands.

As time passed, he became adapted to his odd sleep schedule. And, as he grew accustomed to the baby’s needs, Fenris began to take on more of her care. The rest of the household was covering for his loss on the farm as he helped the child; he thought it only fair to pick-up more of the baby-duties.

Mina was everlastingly patient. She taught him anything he was willing to learn. How to heat and add the powders to the milk, how to test the temperature, how to clean the horns.

The diaper changing was not to his liking, but since feeding her always seemed to include changing her, he thought he might as well do it.

“How does such a small creature create so much crap?” he bemoaned, wiping at the tiny bottom, and succeeding only in spreading the mess around. Mina laughed, and brought more cloths.

“There were times I took Erich outside and held him under the water pump,” she said.

That actually made the elf laugh. “Oh, that’s rich,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s the goat’s milk or the powders, but this stuff is rank.”

“Baby shit is the worst, Fenris. Wait until she’s old enough to spread it all over the crib and walls.”

“She won’t still be with us, will she? I mean, someone will have been found to take her, won’t they?” For that matter, why had no one been found, yet?

“Everyone’s afraid to travel, and leave their farms alone, with the War.”

 _“Fasta vass.”_ He understood, and yet... rearing this child was difficult. And, disgusting. The noises and smells this tiny baby made were unbelievable. He supposed he shouldn’t complain too much; Mina was the one doing the laundry, including the diapers. “Thank you for the help, Mina. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

“I do, Fenris. I know just how much.”

There were times when he spent so many hours intensively caring for the infant, that he felt there was nothing else in the world, but he and the baby. Especially in the wee hours, when the house was quiet and everyone else was asleep. Just the two of them, looking into each other’s eyes as she fed. He wondered if she was finding it as difficult to live with his inept fumbling as it was for him to overcome his inept fumbling. Probably. A baby should really have someone prepared for them to be born to; not some warrior turned farmer who’d never so much as held a baby.

“We were both rather suddenly dropped into this, weren’t we?” he asked her one such morning, near dawn. She continued staring into his eyes, little mouth working at the horn’s tip. “Well, at least we’re keeping you fed. You seem comfortable. Of course, how could you tell us if you weren’t? All of your words sound the same.”

Her little hand worked its way out of her swaddling, and as usual, wrapped itself about his finger. She had a surprisingly strong grip, for such a little creature. Fenris found himself looking at her... really looking at her. So far, his interest had primarily been what went into her and what came out. For the first time, he truly paid attention to the child he held in his arms.

Her finger nails were minuscule, perfectly formed. Her little ears had the daintiest of points on them. Everything about her was tiny; button nose, rosebud mouth. Except her eyes. Her eyes dominated her little heart shaped face. Her skin was smooth ivory, in contrast with the black shadow of baby hair on her head.

This was a little person. A person just over a month old, but already with a traumatic past she wouldn’t remember; having lost her parents, whom she also wouldn’t remember. What would that do to her, later? Would she forever wonder what her life could have been? Would the people with whom she eventually went to live tell her of the bravery of her father, coming to her mother’s aid? Would she ever learn of the kindness her mother possessed, caring for an old man in his final years?

He was amazed by her. Every finger, every toe, her little ears, her eyes, her nose... all formed so perfectly. How could a such an unblemished being be created? How could such a dainty little creature exist? She continued gazing up at him as she fed. Fenris marveled at the miracle of her existence. She had been born utterly perfect. So tiny. So fragile. The Maker must have a hand in the creation of each life. How else could anyone be born as they were meant to be?

This child was utterly alone. She had no family; no one from whom she could even take sustenance, save himself. He didn’t know why she nursed for him. Anders and Tena said it was his scent, he knew that. Regardless, he certainly wasn’t the one he’d turn to for nurturing. Why would the Maker send a child into the world with nothing, forced to rely upon strangers? If He was going to take her mother, for reasons only He knew, why would He not ensure someone was there to care for her? It was only luck that Fenris and Anders lived in her community, that this midwife knew how to have a male elf feed her.

Or... was it just luck?

Like a sunburst in his brain, it was all very clear. Suddenly, Fenris saw the hand of the Maker at work with this baby. He felt a strange, pleasant, almost-burn in his heart. And, he knew, with a certainty he’d never known, that this child had been placed in his path. In his life. He could give her what what she needed. He could give her what the Maker had given him. A family. A home. It was undeniable. He gazed at her with terrified wonder and felt his world, once again, begin to rewrite itself.

In time, her eyelids began to droop. Her mouth released the horn, and he set it aside. Her tiny, pursed lips made little movements, as though nursing in her dreams. He stroked her cheek with a fingertip, marveling at its petal softness. He lowered his head to feel the silk of her hair against his cheek. She smelled sweet, fresh. The scent made his chest warm.

“Fenris?” Anders was kneeling in front of him, tousled from sleep.

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?”

“Mm-hm.” He stroked his fingers lightly over her head.

“You look dazed, love....” Anders’ hand reached out to touch his face.

“She’s beautiful, Anders. She’s so alone. We can take care of her.”

“We are taking care of her.”

Fenris shook his head. “More than that. Do you see our path, Anders? Do you see her place on it?”

He glanced at the healer to see his reaction. His mussed hair accentuated his furrowed brow of confusion.

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“You were there to save her. I was here to feed her. Our path has led straight to this child, Anders. The Maker meant her for us.”

“Love, are you sure you’re not just over-tired? Two crazy templars put her in our path.”

“Like those templars in the sewers put you in my path, that day? Like I put you on your path home?”

Anders took a deep breath. Fenris saw him thinking, saw the pieces falling into place. “Are you sure, Fenris? This isn’t a decision to be made lightly.”

Fenris looked intently at him. “This isn’t a decision to be made, at all. This is what was meant to be. From the time you lost your magic, until this moment, look at all that occurred to make this possible. I can’t deny the Maker’s will, any more than you. She was meant to come to us. She lost everything. We can give it to her, again.”

“You... you want to raise a child with me? To have a family, together?” His voice was filled with disbelief. And, hope.

“I do.”

“Oh, Fenris....” Anders’ expression had never spoken so eloquently. Carefully, so as not to disturb the babe’s sleep, he sat beside the elf. Fenris saw the utter joy in the healer’s eyes as he bent over the baby and placed a soft kiss to her head.

Smiling, Fenris looked back down at the sleeping infant.

“You’re ours, now, child, as the Maker planned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The elf scent and nurse thing... I liked the idea, so there it is.
> 
> In medieval times, cow horns like described in the story were sometimes used to feed babies.


	32. Mina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of mothers, men, children, and grandchildren.

Mina had always wanted a large family. Since she was a little girl, an only child, she’d planned to bear as many children as the Maker saw fit to give her. But, more than just quantity, she wanted to give her children a happy home, a joyful life. She wanted to give her children what she hadn’t had. 

She was born, and raised during her younger years, in a village in Highever. Her father was a soldier, and gone frequently, which suited Mina just fine. She barely knew him. When he came home for visits, her mother fussed and simpered, and played the helpless little woman. Her father seemed to enjoy the affectations, and quickly swept his wife into their bedroom for days at a time. Mina was forgotten in their honeymoon reunions, but she learned to enjoy the time alone. For, soon, enough, she would be startled out of sound sleep by a loud voice in the night, soon followed by the resounding slap of her father’s hand across her mother’s cheek. And, it would begin.

Mina spent as much time as possible away from home when her father was about. He wasn’t particularly cruel to her; he mostly ignored her. In fact, she didn’t think he considered her much, at all. The only times he spoke to her were to issue orders, or to wake her in the middle of the night to tend to her injured mother. She loved her mother, but didn’t understand why she tolerated his abuse. When she asked, she was told that she was too young to understand. Mina didn’t care how old she got. She would never allow a man to treat her that way. 

She’d actually stepped in, to break-up the beatings, on several occasions. To her dismay, her mother had turned on her. She’d been castigated, and told to stay out of their business, and sent to her room. Her father had smirked, jerking his head in the direction of the door. After a few times of that, she’d resigned herself to listening to the blows landing against flesh, the angry shouts, and whimpering cries. 

Her closest friend, as a child, was Caroli. She was the middle child of seven, and her parents were loving, playful, and happy to include Mina in their chaotic brood. They were poor, yet their household never rang with cries of pain or physical blows. Laughter ruled the household. Children were held and hugged. Caroli’s parents showed one another, and each child, affection. They had little, yet they shared all they did have; even with Mina.

This was what she wanted--a home where children weren’t ignored. Where the father didn’t beat the mother. She wanted a big, crazy, laughter-filled household with children of all ages running amuck, and never at a loss for parental affection. Mina loved Caroli’s family more than her own parents. She thought to herself that it was probably wrong of her, but she couldn’t bring herself to change her feelings.

Then, when she was in her eleventh year, her father was recruited by the Grey Wardens. When she told Caroli this, her friend said that when men and women joined the Wardens, they left their old life behind, including their family. Mina had been overjoyed--he would finally be out of their lives. 

But, then he’d written, and told her mother to join him in the Anderfels, where he was being stationed. Mina had launched into a screaming fit. She was not leaving her friends, she was not leaving Caroli’s family, she would not live in the blight-ridden Anderfels so he could come home and beat his wife on a regular basis.

Her mother put her foot down. Mina would come with her, or she would be given to the Chantry. Mina believed in the Maker and his Bride, but to serve the Chantry her whole life? She couldn’t have the family she dreamed of. Sullen and seething, she helped her mother pack their belongings, and made the long journey to an inhospitable land.

They settled into what was considered, by Anderfels’ standards, as a decent-sized village. There were a few dozen families gathered together on the steppes, subsisting on dirt-farming and hunting. The only good of going was when she learned that her father would only be visiting once or twice a year. Otherwise, she and her mother were both miserable. 

They didn’t speak the local language, and few spoke theirs. Neither Mina nor her mother had skills to survive in the Anderfels. Her mother had been a washer-woman. The women here did their own wash. The women here were self-sufficient and strong. Her mother was not. The weather was terrible, and they barely managed to grow a garden that kept them fed. Neither knew anything about tracking, hunting or foraging. Neither had ever cared for stock.The pittance that her father sent to them each month was all that kept them alive.

As his final act of cruelty to his wife, Mina’s father died just a few years after they’d settled there. Their funds having been spent on traveling there, with no family to help them to get home, they were stranded in a foreign land. Only her father’s respect as a Warden garnered them much in the way of consideration from the close-knit community they’d moved into. They were outsiders, but they were not allowed to starve. The small village kept them alive.

Mina grew into adolescence as a comely, if ill-managed, young woman. Although she picked-up the language, she hadn’t been taught those things an Anderfel woman should know to set up a home and hearth. Her mother was a burden to the community. As she grew into adolescence, she caught the interest of the men in the village. She realized that her only hope of any sort of security in this country was in marriage. To that end, she had only her body to recommend her, so she learned to use it. She learned to dimple and flirt, to cast eyes and innuendo. 

She had her share of lovers. The Anderfels were hard living, and people looked old before their time. Mina had spent most of her life in Ferelden, and she hadn’t developed the wrinkles and rough skin a lifetime in the wind and harsh sun gave the women of the village. She was pretty, and pert, and always smiling. Many of the men she set her cap for were happy to take the young girl for a tumble. Yet, for all they fawned and pawed after her, few gave her more than just a tumble or two. Those who wanted more, were lacking, in her eyes.

When she’d worked her way through the available men, she began seducing married men, which did her no favors as far as her quest to marry and raise a family. She hoped she’d found the man for her when Schmidt returned from the Wandering Hills.

Schmidt had left the village before she’d moved there, but she’d heard his name mentioned often, through the years. He was an archer with the Green Men, traveling the Wandering Hills with the caravans. He had a near-celebrity status by the time he returned. He was older than she by nearly ten years, and had the air of a man who was in control of himself, and didn’t need to prove his prowess. He was strong, relatively wealthy, and exotic with his Orth scars and tales of travel. Word had it he’d returned to settle down and raise a family; Mina set her cap. 

She used every means at her disposal to entice Schmidt, and exploited every opportunity to flirt with him. He was always kind to her, and returned her smiles and jokes. But, frustratingly enough, he seemed to have no interest in her considerable charms. This did nothing to slow her down. She was determined to have him. She was sure that if she could only bed him, he would realize what a treasure he had in her, and he would be hers.

Mina had known of Wil, of course, it was a very small village. But, he was slightly younger, and very quiet. He could be found at any gathering, quietly watching the people around him, speaking only when spoken to. Nothing about him begged a second glance, so she gave him none. This meek boy had nothing to offer her.

She became more familiar with him as she set about wooing Schmidt. For some reason, the rugged, manly, archer was friends with the quiet boy. Nearly every time she visited Schmidt, or came across him in the village, Wil was with him. As she flirted, laughed, and flung innuendo, Wil was quietly in the background, watching and listening. She saw his eyes take in everything she did, and despite his even expression, she was certain he was judging her. She scowled at him when Schmidt wasn’t looking, and turned her nose up at him. Who was he to judge her?

In time, Schmidt chose another woman for his mate, and they quickly had a child. Mina was frustrated. Of course he would be virile, and able to sire a child so quickly. She hated the woman he married, simply because Mina felt she was living the life that was rightfully her’s. It wasn’t that she was in love with Schmidt, simply that he could have provided exactly what she wanted. Her options were running out.

Then, the blessed news broke that many villagers had decided to leave the Anderfels, and travel to Ferelden. It was good farming, and there was land enough to settle in an out-of-the-way area, and live as they chose. Mina cried with happiness. She and her mother were going with them. This would likely be the only opportunity for them to ever return to their homeland. 

They moved into a village nearly as small as the one they’d left. There were a few available men among the villagers they joined. She put on her smile, and began her campaign. Yet, no matter where she went, or to whom she was talking, Wil always seemed to be nearby; always seemed to be watching her as she worked her wiles. Every time she turned around, his serious, honey-colored eyes were there, judging her. She ignored him, glared at him, and, finally, she turned on him.

“Sniffing after what you can’t have will only leave you hungry,” she spat. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He did the same with every other rude comment she made. It infuriated her. 

Finally, at a Satinalia celebration, after she’d finished a very lascivious dance with a would-be suitor, Wil approached. She was prepared with a biting refusal, and waited for his invitation to dance. It never came. With his usual serious expression, he simply said, “When you’ve tired of looking for a new father, we should talk.” 

She’d stared at him, unaccountable fury building in her chest. She pulled back her arm, and slapped him across the face with all the force she had. He hadn’t turned away, merely touched his fingers to the red handprint she’d left on his cheek. He spoke again, his voice just as soft as before. 

“I would never hurt you, Mina.” And, then, he’d walked away.

It had taken her weeks to gather the courage to face him. She’d spent the time vacillating between anger and tears. She wasn’t a girl who cried, and doing so was as upsetting as the thoughts going through her mind. She’d been looking for a husband, not a father. She had certainly never treated her father the way she did the men she’d bedded. Wil was insane. She finally approached him to demand that he explain himself.

He didn’t seem surprised to see her. He simply nodded, and gestured her to sit beside him on a log where he sat working on a piece of tack. In her usual forthright manner, she asked him what the Void he’d meant. In his soft, thick accent, he’d begun to speak.

“Mina, I’ve seen you since you moved to the Anderfels. Saw your father come and go. It was no secret how he ignored you, and how he treated your mother. He may have been a Warden, and I’ll not speak ill of the dead, but no one was saddened to hear he’d died.

“You have flounced your skirts at every man, available or not, since you came of age. Do you ever wonder why none of them claimed you for their own? There were men in the village who would have taken you to their hearths. But, you didn’t want those. You set your cap only after men you could not have. Why do you think Schmidt overlooked you? He knew that if he took your bait, you’d only set him loose again. You don’t want a man who wants you, in return. Because, Mina, you aren’t really looking for a husband, at all. You’re looking for a father. And, the only kind of father you know, is the kind you cannot have. 

“Stop looking for a father to desert you. Look for a man to stand at your side. A man who will give you the family you want. A man who will not to hit you, nor abandon you, nor take you for granted. A man who will love you.”

He’d stopped then, and looked at her intently. “Open your eyes, Mina, and look for that man.”

They’d married the following Summerday.

Wil was, indeed, the man she’d hoped to marry and have a family with. He hadn’t been judging her, all those years he’d watched her. He simply been watching. 

She came to realize that Wil had an uncanny understanding of people. The first time he’d really spoken to her, there was already much about her that he knew better than she did. By the time they married, she was certain he knew her better than she knew herself. It was comforting, she found, to have someone pay so much attention to her, after so many years of being a disregarded child. 

Wil was younger than she--only sixteen, in fact--but possessed an old soul. He understood pain, and he understood anger. He was the first to tap into the pain that she had sought to hide with her smiles and promiscuity. He allowed her to be her true self, and to find the girl within who’d been quashed by her parents’ neglect. She learned she didn’t have to be the smiling coquette. She could simply be herself, and Wil adored her for just who she was. 

She also learned the difference between having sex, and making love. Wil gained her trust through his honesty and understanding. And, that trust allowed her to truly experience the pleasure two people could share. All the sex she’d had before was as nothing in the wake of his intense lovemaking. Mina was his first, and only, lover, yet he knew what she needed in bed, just as he’d known what she needed in her heart. 

Their marriage was a happy one, and when the Maker blessed them with Erich, both cried for the joy of their healthy baby boy. Erich looked like Wil from birth. It was as though Wil hadn’t so much planted his seed within her womb, as imparted a bit of himself, that grew into a younger twin. Until Erich’s personality began to show, that is. Then, they knew it was Mina in the child’s mind. 

Erich was energetic, gregarious, and full of laughter. He was everything any parent could hope for. He brought her fistfuls of daisies, frogs from the pond, and messy kisses. His feet were always moving, always running to the next destination. He was up trees, and down holes, and chasing fennec foxes, and following his father about like a shadow. Mina never watched Wil with their son that she didn’t send a prayer of thanks to the Maker. He was what a father should be; loving, patient, kind, present. 

When Mina conceived twice more, only to lose them before she began to show, she was saddened, but no less joyful in the child she had. The large family she had wanted wasn’t to be. But, although their house may not have overflowed with children, it overflowed with love and laughter. She had her dream, really, just on a smaller scale. She put her hopes on Erich marrying, and producing a houseful of grandchildren. She was content.

Until Erich was taken to the Circle. Watching her son being led away between two templars, in chains, she’d wept tears enough to fill the seas. Losing him to magic was the most painful thing to happen to her, before or since. If her love for Wil, and his for her, had not been as strong as it was, she didn’t think she’d have survived her son’s leaving. The darkness would have consumed her.

Over the two decades that he’d been lost, Erich existed in a strange twilight in her heart. Not dead, yet not quite alive. She found herself often in his room, just sitting, feeling for the presence of the boy she missed like her own heart. Her life, their life, once so bountiful and bright, was bleak. 

So, when he’d strolled across the yard, twenty years later, it was like waking from a long, fitful sleep. Her baby boy, grown, the spitting image of his father, still the son of her heart. It was a miracle, and nothing less. He walked back into their life, and the sun shone, again, for the first time in twenty-odd years. 

And, he’d brought with him such a devoted partner. She’d heard it said, a woman will marry a man like her father; apparently, a man will do the same. Fenris was so like Wil in temperament, it was uncanny. Even though there would be no grandchildren from this union, she couldn’t be disappointed. They loved that elf. He was a good, strong, kind man, who loved their son dearly. She may not have borne him, but she and Wil agreed he was their second son. He needed family, and they were proud to be it. When he’d unexpectedly spoken vows of commitment to Erich under the drifting petals of the apple tree... they couldn’t have been happier.

Until now.

Before them sat their beloved son, and his equally beloved mate. In his arms, Erich held a tiny, elven baby; the one he’d rescued from her dying mother’s womb. The one whose life he’d saved; and, whom Fenris had kept alive by nursing her. 

Mina had known the child would only be with them for a short while, but she’d gloried in mothering a babe, again. Such a beautiful baby, such a tragic situation. Poor Fenris. He’d come into this arrangement with nothing to recommend him but his elven race, yet he’d devoted himself to the child’s needs. 

When Erich had asked them to sit down, so he could tell them something important, she assumed a permanent home had finally been found for the baby. It saddened her, but she knew it would happen, sooner or later. She was both very wrong, and wondrously right.

“You’re... keeping her?” Mina must not have heard correctly.

“Yes, Mutti.”

Wil took her hand. “You want to adopt her?” he asked.

“Yes, Vati.”

Mina felt hope well-up inside of her.

“You’re going to raise her as your daughter?”

“We’d hoped you would be pleased,” her son said, uncertainly.

“Pleased?” she cried. “I’m thrilled! Oh, blessed Andraste, I’m so happy!”

She looked at her husband, and saw his smile. She knew that smile. A smile of wonder and awe. It was the smile he wore when he saw the Maker’s hand at work. And, this miracle was surely the Maker’s doing.

All things were possible with the Maker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't always get what you want. But, sometimes... you do.
> 
> Personal note:
> 
> Although in many ways, Mina is based on me, the whole child-thing, is not. I had Fenris' original attitude. I never wanted kids, but they were a package-deal with my husband, so I did my best. Because one was in their early teens, I became a parent, and then a grandparent, within a seven-year period. Talk about culture-shock. My forties were a helluva ride.


	33. Parenthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two men and a baby. 
> 
> Illness strikes the Village.

To say Anders had been shocked by Fenris’ realization of the baby’s place in their life was an understatement. To say he was pleased would be an even greater one. 

Anders was overjoyed to be a father. Of all the roles he’d played throughout his life, parent was not among them. However much he’d wanted a family, it was something every other aspect of his life had prevented. Being a Grey Warden pretty much sealed it out of the realm of possibility. Choosing a man as his life mate underscored that impossibility. Choosing the man he did, even more-so. Fenris was never what anyone would call fatherly, and had never had an interest in child-rearing.

Until now. 

An unwilling surrogate in the beginning, Fenris was now a doting parent. With his faith that the Maker intended her to be theirs, came an about-face in his mindset. He had a new energy in his care of the child, and a new attitude regarding his late nights and early mornings. It was a wonder to see. The softness in the elf’s expression as he gazed at the little elf feeding in his arms was heartwarming. 

Anders had thought she was sweet, a little sad, and uncommonly beautiful. Now, knowing she was theirs, somehow it augmented everything about her. She wasn’t simply an infant patient, she was his infant. She was their child. She was his and Fenris’ daughter. Everything was changed.

His parents rejoiced in their decision to adopt the baby. He knew they were bragging to the Village, far and wide. And, the Village was nearly as happy. The murder of her parents, and subsequent saving of the child, had rocked the community. They cared for their own, and felt it deeply when they lost two members of the Village. That Fenris was the only one able to feed the infant, and against all odds, was keeping the baby alive, only gained him even greater respect than he’d already had. 

As word spread that Fenris and Anders were keeping her, visitors began to arrive. Mostly women, with a few men in tow, showing up with gifts of food and baby supplies. Anders, knowing of the custom, wasn’t surprised. Fenris was very surprised, as well a bit uncertain. He wasn’t someone to host visitors. And, Anders was interested to learn, Fenris wasn’t someone to hand his child over for ooh’s and aah’s. He followed her as she passed from guest to guest, hovering anxiously until she was back in his arms. Remembering that the elf had barely been able to hold her to feed, and was now reluctant to let her out of his arms, he couldn’t help but chuckle. 

Visitors who witnessed his protective demeanor spread the word of his fatherly devotion. Women adored his doting behavior, and some wondered why their own men weren’t so involved in child-rearing. More than one husband grumbled when they found themselves looked at askance by their wives.

Gifts included a bassinet, which they sorely needed. Wil had dug Anders’ old crib out of storage as soon as he’d heard they were keeping her, and its restoration was begun. Mina set about turning his childhood room into a nursery. 

Anders saw Fenris watching all this with awe and gratitude. 

“What surprises you so much, love?” he’d asked, sitting next to the elf, and pulling his back against his front. The baby was in Fenris’ arms, just having fed. She was drifting to sleep, great blue eyes blinking sleepily. She really was uncommonly beautiful. 

“I just never knew a baby required so many supplies, or so much space. Yet, your parents seem happy to go to so much trouble on her behalf.”

“They’ve wanted grandchildren since I was born, apparently,” Anders mused, gently stroking her downy hair. “You have made them very happy grandparents.”

“I didn’t do it. You saved her, and gave her to me to feed.” 

“I was only thinking of the immediate--keeping her alive until other arrangements could be made. You’re the one who fell in love with her, and declared to the Maker and all who could hear, that you were keeping her.”

“Was I that unthinking? I didn’t consider your thoughts on the matter, did I?”

Anders chuckled, and pressed a kiss to Fenris’ temple. “Oh, love, I’m delighted. You may not have given birth, but you made me a father. I’m can hardly be upset about that. And, you didn’t so much declare it as simply point-out the obvious. She _was_ meant to be ours. Maker, she’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“She is. She’s perfect.”

“She needs a name. We can’t just keep calling her ‘she’.”

“I haven’t even thought about naming her. How does one go about naming a child?” 

“Well, sometimes they’re named after family, or a historical figure, or just a name that means something special to the parents.”

“We could call her Nia, after her mother.”

Anders grimaced. “It’s said to be bad luck, to name a baby after a mother who died in childbirth. It holds the mother’s spirit nearby.”

“Well, I’m not calling her Varania. We could choose a name from your family.”

“You have another family name, Fenris,” Anders said softly. “Leto. You could call her Leta.”

Fenris turned to him with huge eyes. “Leta. I like that. It’s all I have that my mother gave me.” He turned to the sleeping infant. “Your name is Leta. It’s after me. I hope you will like it.”

On All Soul’s Day, Fenris said that now he had people to remember, he wished he didn’t. The entire village thought of the young couple who’d died only months ago. Nothing so heinous had ever happened in the village, not since the Blight, when report after report of deaths had been delivered to family after family. Neither man had been close to either Nia nor her husband, but they’d been there when they’d died. And, of course, they were now raising their orphaned daughter.

Anders glanced at Fenris as they walked around the bonfires with the rest of the village. He carried Leta against his chest, held in a carry-wrap. His mother had delighted in teaching the two men how to wrap the length of cloth about themselves and the baby, to comfortably carry her. He’d seen women carry babies this way his entire life, but had never given a thought to how they managed it. He was on a whole new learning curve. 

Fenris looked pensive, as he did when he had deep thoughts that bothered him. He was fairly sure he was thinking about Leta’s parents, and worried about their sacrifice that brought her to them. Fenris almost thought too much about the Maker’s plans, and what their path may have in store. It was his nature; he was intense, that’s all there was too it. His father also said that some people, coming to understand the Maker, became over-occupied with Him. In time, Wil expected Fenris would find more ease with his faith. 

If Fenris was more intense regarding faith, he was less intense in many other ways. True, uninhibited smiles seemed to come easier to the elf, since Leta joined their lives. She seemed to be a catalyst for expression for Fenris. He certainly gushed over the baby. She was gush-worthy. Anders had seen his share of babies during the time he spent in the clinic in Darktown. Birthing, healing sick infants. The very young and the very old suffered most from destitution and disease. Regardless, this baby... their baby... was the most beautiful he’d ever seen.

He loved it that she was elven, because it meant she looked like Fenris. He loved the way she smelled, and the way her huge eyes stared right back into his. He loved the baby-down on her head that was already beginning to curl. He loved the way she would snuggle into his chest and sleep after she’d been fed. He loved the way she wrapped her tiny fingers about his. He sorely wished he could feed her, but holding Fenris as he fed her was compensation. 

He loved that his mother gushed over her as much as either Fenris or he, and how she didn’t try to take over Leta’s care the way so many new grandmothers do. He loved that she knew so much about baby care, things that even he, as a healer, didn’t know, and was so willing to pass the knowledge on.

He loved how his father had refurbished his old crib, and carved wildflowers and butterflies in the head and footboards. He loved how he would hold her, and speak to her quietly, as though she understood every word, and tell her how the Maker and his Bride loved her, and had sent her to them to love and care for her.

This child, born of tragedy, had come into a family of love and devotion. 

Before she was four months old, it was discovered through a happy accident, that if Leta was wrapped in something that smelled of Fenris, she would feed from someone else. When Anders had gotten out of bed to prepare her milk for Fenris, he’d grabbed his tunic, that Fenris had been wearing, and pulled it on. When he’d carried her and the horn up to Fenris, the baby tried to feed before he could pass her to the elf. It was Maker-sent. At long last, the elf was able to sleep through the occasional night, spelled in feedings by Anders, and Mina or Wil. He began tucking towels into his tunic, so there was always something handy to wrap her in.

As soon as she began feeding from anyone, Anders had taken her to Lera, to see if she would breastfeed. Even when wrapped in Fenris’ shirt, she wouldn’t take the breast. Tena was consulted, and the old woman said she wasn’t surprised. She’d seen babies who’d been breastfed refuse a horn, and seen babies fed from the horn refuse to take a breast. Some babies were simply stubborn. Anders nodded. This was Fenris’ child, alright.

Tena understood Anders’ concern for Leta getting what she needed from the fortified goat’s milk. It simply wasn’t possible to match breast milk with stock animals. Yet, she’d had luck with the fortifications they were adding. So far, both she and Anders were pleased with Leta’s growth. It was really a moot point, regardless. If the baby wouldn’t nurse from a breast, they would have to make do with what they had. At the very least, it was now much easier to feed her.

Fenris was pleased that Anders, at long last, was able to enjoy feeding Leta. He was also pleased to get a solid night’s sleep several times a week. As months passed, and the last mad dash of harvesting was underway, Leta began sleeping nearly through the night. She moved from her bassinet in Fenris’ and Anders’ room, to the crib in her nursery. Getting enough rest, and having Mina take several feedings during the day meant he and Anders were both on hand to help with the harvest.

“Ow-ow-ow... Fenris, she’s got me, again.”

He tried to hold still as Fenris gently pried his hair from the baby’s hands. 

“You need to pull your hair back when you hold her. She’s grabbing everything, lately.”

“I know. I keep forgetting. She’s got a grip.”

He saw the proud look on the elf’s face. “She’s strong. Like me.”

Anders couldn’t help but smile. “She sure is.” 

The weeklong Satinalia celebration coincided with Leta reaching five months of age. Anders had heard that elven children mature more rapidly than human, but had never been around them much beyond their birth or illness. Mina and Tena felt that Leta was pretty much doing things in the same order as most babies, but a bit faster than the norm. Her astonishing eye contact was definitely an elven trait, along with such vividly colored eyes. 

She was slender for a baby of her age, and Anders fussed about it. Fenris reminded him that elves were simply slighter than humans. Mina said she should be ready to start on fine porridge, soon, which relieved him. A little texture in her diet would expand her nutritional options, greatly. He and Tena both agreed, that the sooner she was off of the horn and eating a variety of foods, the better. Of course, it all depended on Leta.

She had many admirers at the Satinalia parade of masks. Mina had made her a beautiful, tiny, butterfly mask, and Anders knew she was the most beautiful baby present. Fenris agreed. As they walked together, Leta in Fenris’ arms, past the bystanders for the children’s parade, Anders pointed out his parents. They were like-wise pointing out their granddaughter in her butterfly mask to those around them. 

Mina’s golden breast-and-phallus mask won the contest for the week’s celebration. She was in high spirits, and it was all Anders could do to talk to his mother with her eyes looking at him through the nipples of a pair of breasts, and a raging hard-on affixed to her face. Fenris and Wil both thought it was hilarious, which only egged her on. It seemed that every time he turned around his mother had positioned herself so he was nose to knob with the blasted thing.

“If Leta grows up into a brothel-bouncing playboy, it’ll be your fault,” he scolded.

“Better that than she should be frightened of penises,” Mina countered. “Is it penises, or peni? What’s the plural?”

“Cocks,” Fenris helpfully supplied.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Mina said.

“You’re both terrible, terrible people,” Anders said.

For the Satinalia dance, it was agreed that Fenris and Wil would be able to drink their fill, and get sloppy drunk, if they so desired. Anders and Mina had discussed it, privately. Both men were so serious much of the time, and mother and son felt they needed to have the chance to blow off some steam, especially since Fenris had taken-on fatherhood so diligently. Anders knew his mother agreed mostly because she wanted to wander the dance with Leta, and show-off to her friends. He thought it was wonderful, and was happy to let her. Anders wanted Fenris to loosen-up for one night, after a summer of so many changes. Good changes, to be sure, but Fenris was someone who didn’t always adjust well to the unexpected. 

Anders watched with indulgent amusement as father and son-in-law got plastered. He’d seen Fenris drunk many times, but not while he, himself, remained sober. Tonight, Fenris was all hugs and chuckles. Wil was on pretty much the same road, and as the evening wore on, they roamed the gathering arm-in-arm, speech slurring, mead spilling, carrying on conversations only they could make sense of. After a couple of hours, an equally drunk Schmidt joined the two, and a contest of dares began.

Anders joined his mother as she sat with Schmidt’s wife, Lera, who was holding her nearly two-year-old baby.

“Andraste’s mercy, they’re doing it, again,” Lera said.

“What’s that?” Anders asked, taking Leta from his mother for some cuddling. She was well-fed, and awake. Smiling toothlessly up at her father, she drooled down his shirt front. “You’re getting a tooth, soon, I think,” he cooed at her. “Yes, you are, drooly-face. Then, you can bite your other daddy and make me laugh, yes you can, oh, yes you can.” Leta giggled at his sing-song speech, making him happy all over.

“They start daring each other to do the most ridiculous things,” Mina said. “Your father kissed Tena on the mouth several years ago.”

Anders laughed loudly. “She either loved it, or walloped him with her walking stick.”

“Both,” Lera said. “Schmidt was stuck on the roof of the gathering hall after Wil dared him to climb up. Took four men to get him back down. Drunken fool.”

“Well, there goes Fenris on a mission. Guess he’s next,” Mina pointed out.

Indeed, the elf was making his less-than steady way to the line of teenaged boys who were watching the line of teenaged girls across the floor. Anders couldn’t hear what was said, but the floor was suddenly cleared, and Fenris was facing-off against six good-sized boys for a wrestling match.

Mina jumped up, and stormed toward them. “Not in the shirt I just made, you don’t!” she declared, and stood with her hand outstretched. The boys all laughed as Fenris, with help from Mina, divested himself of his new tunic. Standing shirtless, with a look of drunken pride on his face, Anders was taken by his beauty. He didn’t think the rest of the village had ever seen him in less than a sleeveless tunic. Judging by the expressions of awe and uncertainty on the boys’ faces, his lyrium markings were impressing the youths. Mina came storming back as the wrestling line-up again took form. 

“What, he’s taking on all six of them at once?” Anders asked.

“Yes. This shirt wouldn’t survive it.”

Lera looked concerned. “Will he survive it?”

Anders, holding Leta up against his shoulder, laughed. “Watch. He’s not that drunk.”

The moment Fenris activated his markings, the smug attitude of the teens disappeared. They put up a good effort, Anders gave them that. But, Fenris, phasing out from under every attempt to pin him, put up a better one. One by one, the adolescents found themselves pinned and counted out. Standing, and attempting to help the final contestant up, Fenris nearly fell on top of him. With good-natured laughter and claps on the back, he wobbled back to Wil and Schmidt. 

“Oh, of course, my man bet against him. Wonder how much he’s lost?” Lera scoffed. Indeed, he was handing something over to the elf.

“Never bet against Fenris if use of his markings hasn’t been disqualified,” Anders sagely advised. “There goes Vati. Wonder what he’s up to?”

“Paying his bet to Fenris, I imagine,” Mina laughed, watching eagerly. Wil had wandered over to the small group of musicians and was talking to them. When they all laughed and nodded, he turned and made his way to his wife. “This should be interesting.”

It was. Wil dragged Mina to the center of the dance floor, dropped gracelessly to one knee, and when the music began, sang a popular love ballad before the entire gathered village. Anders bounced the laughing baby on his knee and watched his father serenade his mother, giving Fenris a thumbs-up when the elf turned to grin drunkenly at him.

“He has a very nice smile, doesn’t he?” Lera commented. “He just doesn’t use it very often.”

“He hasn’t always had much to smile about,” Anders said. That’s changing, he thought. He looked at the little, laughing elf on his knee, and felt his heart warm.

The drive home was boisterous, with Wil and Fenris trying to sing the love ballad in drunken melody. 

With Leta tucked into her crib, and Mina tending to Wil in their room, Anders helped Fenris out of his clothes. The elf was very playful, and very handsy.

“You’re not helping, you know,” Anders chided him. He’d barely been able to get his tunic back on him for the ride home in the chill night. Now, he was having a very hard time getting it off of him, again.

“M’not trying to help,” Fenris replied, pulling him into a kiss. Anders tried to pull away from the friendly assault.

“Don’t you want to go to bed?”

“Not to sleep,” he said with a leer. Now his hands were at Anders’ waistline, tugging at the drawstring of his pants.

“Hold on, you’re going to--” there was a snap and loosening of his pants. “--break the drawstring. Fenris... really, I think you’re a little drunk for....”

Suddenly, the world tipped and inverted. He was pinned beneath the elf on the bed, the elf’s voice hissing in his ear, “Hush. Feel me pleasure you.” 

“Fenris....” he tried to sit up, only to find his arms stretched and held down above his head. Intense eyes bored into his. 

“Not another sound, unless it’s the watch-word. Not another movement, unless it’s by my command.”

Anders felt his eyes bulge in surprise, but nodded silently. Fenris occasionally taking him was one thing. Fenris taking control was something else, entirely. A few seconds ago, he’d been silly-drunk. Now... this. His curiosity and his dick both felt a spike of interest in where this was going.

He was summarily stripped of his clothing, lifting his hips and shoulders when told to. He bit his lip, watching as Fenris stood, somewhat unbalanced, and began to remove his own clothes. Standing in all his nude glory, he raked his gaze down the body of the man lying before him. Arms still stretched above his head, long legs extended to the foot of the bed, Anders saw the odd intensity in the elf’s eyes build. Both their cocks were beginning to swell and rise as each regarded the other.

“You’re beautiful,” Fenris said, voice husky. He climbed back on the bed to kneel beside him, still running his gaze up and down his body. “So beautiful.” He ran his hands into Anders’ hair, pulling loose his tail, and carding his fingers through the soft tresses. “The first thing that I ever realized was beautiful about you, was your hair. You were lying unconscious in my mansion, the sun coming through the window, and your hair shone like spun gold.”

Anders held back a soft moan the touch brought forth. His words, his voice, were like nothing he’d ever heard from him, before. He continued touching him, almost like the first time Fenris had explored the healer’s body. As he did so, he continued his monologue.

“Everything about you is perfect. Your warm skin, the stubble on your face, the hair on your body. Maker, your scent... I love how you smell....” Indeed, the elf buried his nose in Anders’ underarm, and inhaled deeply, sighing as though smelling the most delicious, savory dish. He continued following his nose down the body stretched before him.

“Danarius smelled musty, like a wet towel left to mildew. He tasted of sour sweat....” his nose nuzzled Anders’ sack, inhaling; his tongue unfurling to lave the orbs within. Despite the unexpected reference to Fenris’ former master, Anders bit back more moans fighting their way out of his throat. His cock was rising fast. 

“You taste delicious. All of you. Your kiss, your skin, your cock, your essence. I want to give you tongue baths, to suck you, to learn all of your flavors. I want to consume you, make you part of me.” 

Anders bucked, unable to hold himself in check as Fenris pulled his hardening shaft between his lips. The elf moaned, sucking with intensity. Biting his lips together, Anders breathed deep. In short time, he was hard, desperately hard, barely able to hold himself still. He was approaching the climb to climax with the elf’s focused attention. Then, Fenris groaned, letting his flesh slip from between his lips. 

“That’s what I wanted... your first juices. Taste yourself on me,” he said, moving to take Anders’ mouth in a scorching, forceful kiss. As Fenris’ tongue curled into his mouth, he eagerly accepted him, tongue twining about his. He did taste his precome on the elf, and he could barely contain himself for wanting to flip him over, and taste him in return. Fenris ended the kiss slowly, his searching green eyes meeting his.

“I want you, Anders. I want to take you, make you come undone, make you scream with pleasure. I want all of you; your body, your heart, your soul, your mind. Maker preserve me, I want to _possess you..._ it’s wrong, but I can’t stop the need to make you mine. You’ve never denied me anything, never held yourself back from me. Whether your thoughts, or your body, or your feelings... you give me all that you are. And, still I want more.”

Dropping his body against the healer’s, Fenris slowly rocked them together, skins rubbing from head to toe, the elf’s hands stroking up Anders’ arms to grasp their hands together.

“How incredible you feel....” 

Anders floated in a haze of mental and physical bliss. Fenris’ voice, his words, his touch... he’d never anticipated an experience such as this. He’d never expected the elf to lay his thoughts so bare, so erotically open. He began to quiver as Fenris gently rocked his hips against him, cocks sliding minutely together. 

“Feel how responsive you are. How willing to let me have my way, do what pleases me. Danarius took from me. He was a monster, using me like a thing, an object for his pleasure. You would never treat me so. Even were you to bind me, gag me, blindfold me, you would never make me feel the way he did. You would give me such pleasure, with your beautiful body, with your honeyed kiss, with your perfect cock. You are not he, and nothing we do will ever be the same as what he did.”

Anders was dying to nod, to shout agreement, to make the sweetest love to the elf that had ever been made. But, this was Fenris’ experience, his... catharsis? Is that what this was? Fenris exorcising demons, and exploring his sexuality? It seemed that way. Whatever it was, Anders would play whatever part the elf needed.

A husky whisper was in his ear. “Roll over.”

With a feeling of surprise, and excited anticipation, Anders rolled onto his front. Fenris lay on him, again, bodies stretched against one another, his cock nestled against the cleft of his ass, lips pressing kisses to his exposed temple, ear, and cheek. The hair at his neck was lifted away, and open-mouthed kisses were passionately given to the brand on his skin. The elf’s tongue tasted the mark, lips sucked at it.

“I know how much pain you endured after receiving this. I know how you miss your magic. But, if you hadn’t been branded, we’d never have been put on the path to become what we are. This mark brought us together, and now, _nothing_ will tear us apart.”

Tears pricked at the back of his eyes. He felt the same, and he wanted to say so, to share the feeling with him. The worshipful mouth traveled down his shoulders and back, along his spine, nipping at the line of muscle, down to the globes of his buttocks, taking larger, more forceful bites. 

“I love this ass, Anders. Love the way it moves when you walk, ride, fight, fuck. Love how it feels in my hands as you thrust into my body....” 

A whine escaped Anders’ control, and wasn’t missed by the observant elf. “What was that? Are you so aroused that you can’t help yourself?”

Anders lay, trembling, gritting his teeth, wanting to nod, to beg. His cock, hard, weeping, lay pressed between his body and the bed, throbbing with the need Fenris’ voice was creating within him.

“Let me help....” and with that, Fenris spread his cheeks, and feasted upon him. 

Mouth open in a silent cry, Anders shuddered at the treatment. He’d never had someone do this to him, before. Maker, he’d had no idea how good it would feel. The elf was relentless, and tongued him with skill and adoration. By the time the torturous mouth moved away, Anders’ entire body was damp with sweat, and he was panting into the bedding below him. Fenris shifted his position, speaking into his ear.

“I want to touch you inside, Anders. I want to see you writhe, hear you take pleasure in what I do. Move as you wish, loose your voice... do you object to my touch?”

“Maker, Fenris, please!” he cried out. As lubricated fingers gently found their way within his body, and stroked lazily over his sweet spot, Anders’ voice proclaimed his pleasure. He stay as he was, belly down, feeling Fenris’ cheek against his shoulder blade as the elf lay pressed against him. As his hips began to move, trying to pull those fingers deeper, Fenris removed them.

“Anders, I must have you,” his voice was shaky, rough with need. “Use the watch-word if you need it... _fasta vass..._ I want you....” Fenris’ strong arms pulled him up to his hands and knees, and then, slowly and carefully slid into Anders’ body.

A long, desperate, keening cry burst from Anders’ throat. His entire body felt as though it had just coiled into a tight, trembling ball of sensation. He shook, panting, more aroused than he had ever been in his life. 

“Anders... Anders.... Anders....” Fenris was whispering reverently as he held himself still, allowing them to grow accustomed to the position. His grip on the healer’s hips was firm, holding them tightly together. “This is us... you and me. This is good. Anders, you feel like home.”

Voice cracking, Anders replied. “You are home....”

With a slow withdrawal, and a hard, deep thrust, Fenris began to move. Anders cried out. And, again. And, again. Shivers cascaded down his body, heat gathered in his belly. He was already on the climb to climax. Fenris had kept him in such a slow build-up, he was ready to explode with this hard, deliberate stimulation.

In short order, his arms gave out, and his chest fall to the mattress, hips raised to receive the elf’s blessed thrusts. He moaned into the bedding, fingers clawing at it as he drew closer to his end.

Suddenly, Fenris pulled out, and flipped Anders onto his back. “I want to see your face,” he gasped, “your beautiful face, when you come.” He wrapped his legs about his waist as Fenris again thrust into him. Anders cried out wildly, body splayed beneath him. Perfect. Perfect. Fenris’ cock bludgeoned his prostate, sweet pleasure rolling over him with each pound of his hips.

He tried to keep his cries modulated, some part of him not wanting to wake the baby, yet hardly able to breathe for the overwhelming sensations. He would come from this, alone; the continuous, intense stroking against his sweet spot would take him to an intense, gripping orgasm. He felt the rise to climax, again.

Fenris thrust into him steadily, never letting up the soul-bending pleasure. The elf panted, looking down on him intently, sweat beading on his face, snowy hair damp. “Anders... give yourself to me... tell me you’re mine....”

Body shuddering at the words, the voice, the intense gaze, Anders spoke. “I’m yours... I’ve always been yours... I will always be yours....” his words dissolved into desperate groans as the elf loosed a cry and pounded into him. His hands clutched at Fenris’ shoulders as the twice interrupted race to orgasm was completed.

Anders dissolved into blinding, pulsing bliss, his voice a harsh shout of pleasure; Fenris cried out, face contorted with ecstasy, and slammed into him one last time. He shuddered, gasping, as his heat filled Anders, bound them, left them trembling.

Clinging to each other, breath slowing, Anders held Fenris against him, cradling his head to his shoulder, stroking his back. The drink, the evening, the last several months; something had allowed the elf to go where he hadn’t been able to, before; both physically and mentally.

“Did I please you?” came the question, barely breathed, as he held his elf.

“More than you will ever know. I love you, Fenris,” he whispered. He pressed kisses into the sweaty hair.

He felt the elf draw a shuddering breath. “I love you. I’ve always been yours. I will always be yours.”

Anders buried himself against his mate. Every time he thought he couldn’t possibly be happier... he was proven wrong.

How could he possibly argue with that?

He clung to that happiness, when later in the winter, just after First Day, a respiratory infection struck the community. It was relatively mild for older children and adults, but for infants and the elderly, it was frighteningly virulent. 

For nearly a month, he was barely at home. He made rounds on the entire community, dispensing potions, advice, soothing words. He refused to hold Leta, terrified he would bring it home to her. He wouldn’t kiss Fenris, or hug any of his family members. He brought the bed that had been moved out of his old room into the sitting area of he and Fenris’ apartment, sleeping there when he returned, exhausted, to keep at a distance from his mate. Despite his efforts, Mina and Leta both came down with it. 

He was torn. The community needed him. Other babies had contracted the illness, and several elderly. Mina was relatively young and healthy, she would be fine. After instructing Fenris and his parents in caring for the baby, he knew there was nothing that sitting and fretting would do for her. He left each morning with his heart twisting, and cared for his extended family--the people of Ratspitz Village.

Within a week, Leta and Mina both began to improve. Anders breathed, finally, when Fenris reported that her fever had broken, and she was was coughing less. Wil, Fenris and Anders seemed to have escaped the illness. Others were less fortunate.

A baby of just over a year was not able to fight the fever. Despite all of Anders’ efforts, staying at the child’s home for several nights, using every trick and treatment he knew, the baby died. Watching as she breathed her last in her mother’s arms, he wept. He couldn’t understand what these parents felt, but he knew the terror he felt in knowing this could have easily been Leta. 

He held her that night, tears wetting her curly black hair, as Fenris held him, and whispered encouragement into his ear. His parents also tried to console him, but he knew there was nothing that could be done for his pain. It was the dark side of being a healer. Part of being a parent. Part of being a member of a community that cared for their own.

Tena understood the pain of losing a patient, and tried to help him through it as he doctored her. The illness had struck her hard, and even as she weakened, and felt her own coming demise, she coached him.

“Sometimes, you lose them. You do all that you know, and you try what you don’t, and you pray, and you still lose them. You can’t sway the Maker, if he’s all-fired about taking someone to his side. You do your best, and you save the ones you can.”

“I know that, here,” he said, tapping his head. “It’s in here, that it gets forgotten,” he tapped his chest.

“That’s what makes you a good healer. That’s why I know I can leave the women and babies of this village to your care. It’s time for me to move on.”

“You don’t know that....”

“Young man, I’m ready to go. I’ve lived longer than most by two decades. I miss my man. My children have already gone to the Maker’s side. I’m weary of aching joints and bad teeth.”

“You won’t even try to live?” he’d beseeched.

She’d cackled weakly, coughing. “I never tried to live, healer. I just lived. And, now, I won’t try to die; I just will. Don’t you fret. Blessed Andraste and I are good friends. I’m ready to go. But, first, you listen to me. I’m old, young man, I’ve seen Grey Wardens come and go, and I’ve seen that they don’t live long. You need to pack as much living into your years as you can. Live life like you’re gonna die; because you are. We all are, but you know your time is limited. Love that elf of yours. Love that baby. One day, only the love you’ve given them now will sustain them after you’ve gone. Understand?”

Anders could only nod. He could not argue the truth of her wisdom. She passed into the Maker’s keeping the next morning.

By the time the illness had blown over, he was physically and emotionally drained. He came home the evening he’d declared the epidemic over, nearly staggering. His mother sat him at the table with a warm meal. Fenris led him to the nursery to kiss Leta as she slept, then into their rooms. Undressing him, Fenris pulled him to bed and wrapped his arms about the exhausted man. As he drifted into oblivion, he could only think how lucky they all were, to have each other.

And, that he would live life like he was gonna die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the image of Fenris as a protective daddy.
> 
> I also love the image of Fenris taking command. He's been submissive, thus far, but he's been doing a lot of healing and growth. He was just ready to go someplace new.
> 
> Losing patients, especially young patients, is a special kind of hard. 
> 
> Tena was very old, and very wise, and saw much in her years. 
> 
> (The line "live life like you're gonna die; because you are," comes from William Shatner's CD, Has Been.)


	34. Bearing the Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris learns a dark secret of being a Grey Warden.
> 
> Anders considers leadership.

The entire community turned-out for the funerals of the baby and Tena. Somehow, it seemed right that the old midwife’s spirit would be able to guide the infant to the Maker’s arms, just as she’d guided her into her mother’s arms.

Fenris stood with Leta strapped to his front with her carry-wrap, his arms tight about her, as the tiny bundle was carried to the pyre. He’d had no idea how painful this would be. He looked at the parents, weeping beside the pyre. He’d met them, of course, during the past three years. He’d seen them anticipate their child’s birth. Mina had made a blanket for her when she was born. Now... he pulled Leta tightly to him, and glanced at Anders, who had tears streaking his cheeks. He’d tried to save that baby. Tried with all he had, and she’d still died. He couldn’t begin to imagine how that felt. He’d held him afterward, and knew the grief he felt. Seeing it, again, the elf slid in front of him, and felt arms wrap around him from behind, to hold both he and their child. They were all three together. They would be alright.

After the funeral, people shared a meal, and conversed in soft voices. Anders and Fenris were talking with Lera and Mina, expressing their thankfulness that their own babies were healthy. Mina spoke of Anders’ heroic efforts to help the village, what a fine set of fathers they were, how lucky Leta was to grow up with them to care for her. Fenris saw Anders flinch, a strange sadness in his eyes. What was that about? 

Wil approached his son. “The Council is considering potential new members to take Tena’s place,” he said.

“Her ashes are, literally, still warm,” Anders said with some astonishment. “What’s the rush?”

“That’s how it’s done, son. Especially now, with the instability of politics and the War. We need to keep a strong leadership for the community. Tena knew this. Those on the Council all know this. It’s not out of disrespect.”

“Who’s on the short-list?” Mina asked.

“Right now, just one. Erich.”

Fenris saw shock on his mate’s face. He, himself, was not at all surprised.

“Me? Why me? I’m not an elder in the community.”

“You’re not an elder, that much is true. Yet, you’ve been a strong community-member since you returned. You’re the Village healer. Plus, you’re a Grey Warden, and that garners you even more respect. Your youth only means you can serve the community that much longer.” Again, the flinch, and sadness. 

“There can’t be two members from the same family, can there?” Mina asked.

“There’s no restriction on it. And, Erich’s been gone a long time, somehow that makes him seem less easily influenced by me. He has already demonstrated a willingness to take the opposite position I do, when he argued so strongly with me about the apostates last summer.”

Fenris felt himself puff with pride in his mate. He saw Anders’ baffled face, and knew that he was truly the best choice for the Council position.

“You should consider this, Anders. You’re a natural for it. You are these people’s caregiver. You have experience with both apostates and templars. You’re a man with a family, a vested interest in the decisions made.”

“So are you,” Anders countered, almost militantly. “Except for the healer part, you’re every bit as much right for the position.”

“I’m a newcomer. You have a history here, a childhood spent among the community. Being a Grey Warden really does give people a sense of security in your actions. You don’t see yourself the way the rest of the village does.”

“You don’t have to decide right now, Erich,” Wil said. “Consider it. That’s all.”

“We just cremated a baby and fine woman, today. I’m not going to think about politics, Vati. I’m going home. You coming?” he asked Fenris, then turned to walk away.

Fenris nodded at Wil, and followed after Anders. “We came with your parents, Anders.”

“They can ride with Schmidt and Lera. I want to go home. I’ve had enough of politics taking precedence over people. All my life, that’s what it’s been. From the moment the templars came to me, until my own father wanted to talk about the Council while funeral smoke still fills the sky.” Fenris was surprised at the amount of anger in his voice.

The ride home was quiet. Anders frowned deeply, thinking to himself. Fenris held Leta, still wrapped and napping in her carry-wrap. Once home, Anders took her, and simply sat, cradling her on his lap. 

“Talk to me, Anders. Tell me what’s inside you.”

“Mortality, is what’s inside me, Fenris. I want to see Leta grow up. I want to hold her children. I want to grow old with you.”

“Then, we will do that. All of that. Unless, Leta doesn’t wish to have children....”

“I’m dying, Fenris.”

Fenris’ heart stopped. “What are you saying?” 

“Wardens have the blight. We drink darkspawn blood at our joining. We’re dying of the taint the moment we become a Warden. It’s just... delayed.”

Fenris’ mind was whirling. He’d known Grey Wardens were connected to darkspawn, but not how.

“How... how long until...?”

“It varies. Thirty years, often less.”

“And, you’ve been a Warden....”

“Almost ten years.”

He did the math. Maybe as long as twenty years, until....

“What happens?”

“We hear the darkspawn pulling at us. It’s ‘The Calling’. Traditionally, we go to the Deep Roads to die fighting.”

Why was Anders bringing this up, now? In all this time, he’d never mentioned it before. Oh... Maker.... “Are you hearing them, now?”

“No. No, I’m not.”

“Anders, why are you telling me all of this? Why not before? Why right now? What’s happened?”

“I just... what Mutti was saying. What Vati said about serving on the Council. Some things Tena said before she died. Losing the baby. Fenris, I don’t know if I can make any long-range plans. I can’t....”

“Stop. Just, stop.” He was halfway between fury and despair. Fenris wasn’t one to think much about the future; it was a habit from slavery. But, now, thinking about Anders.... It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m so sorry, Fenris.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m going to leave you. You and Leta, both. I may not outlive my parents; that’s twice I’ll have left them.”

Fenris couldn’t think about it. He tried to shove it aside. The unbidden image of standing at Anders’ funeral pyre.... 

He sat heavily, and braced his head in his hands. 

“Fenris?”

“I feel sick,” he whispered. It had taken so long to find him. So long to find Leta. He couldn’t lose either one. It would kill him.

“Look... there’s no guarantee that anyone will live until the next day. Twenty years is a long time. I could die in any of a dozen ways, long before then.”

“That’s really not helping, Anders. I can’t think of you dying in any way. I can’t. Maker, I wish you hadn’t told me.”

“I’m sorry, Fenris. It hurt too much to hold it on my own, any longer.” Anders’ voice was filled with sorrow.

Fenris looked at his mate. His life-mate, who had the unenviable knowledge of his own time running out. Which he’d shared, along with his pain; shared his fear and sadness. And, Fenris had responded by saying he wished he hadn’t. How often had Anders helped him through his own fears and pain? How many times had he held him and reassured him, and given him just what he’d needed? Even when Fenris had run away from him, he’d never chastised him for the pain it had caused; his only concern had been Fenris’ well-being.

He slid along the settee, and pulled both Anders and the baby into his embrace, as he had when the healer had grieved. 

“No. I’m sorry. It’s good you told me,” he whispered. “Let me shoulder some of that burden. We can work things out, together. We will make our time matter, that much more.”

“Thank you... thank you. I don’t want my folks to know.”

“I agree.” He envied them. But, this was his part of their relationship, to support his mate. And, he would, with every fiber of his being. This man, and this child, were all that mattered. 

“Who knows? Maybe a cure for the Calling will be found,” Anders was saying. “Anything is possible.”

“All things are possible with the Maker,” Fenris said, automatically. It was true. Look what the Maker had done, in both of their lives. He was a mated man, and a father. Three years ago, he never would have thought this was possible. He’d lived a lifetime in those few years. Imagine what he could live and learn and know in fifteen or twenty. 

He slid forward to kneel on the floor, pulling Anders to do the same. “Sing our hymn with me?” Anders’ soft, grateful smile was all he needed. Together, the baby in their arms, their voices sang the hymn they’d come to think of as theirs, and Fenris felt his heart begin to beat, once more.

 _“In the long hours of the night_  
_“When hope has abandoned me,_  
_“I still see the stars and know_  
_“Your Light remains._

 _“I have heard the sound,_  
_“A song in the stillness,_  
_“The echo of Your voice,_  
_“Calling creation to wake from its slumber.”_

When Wil and Mina came home, Anders and Fenris were feeding Leta, and all three were having a high time of it. Thriving on her diet of soft and mushed foods, the baby ate more than she drank from the horn. Her milk was now just a settling-down ritual, before naps and bedtime. 

Fenris held her on his lap, as Anders, on the floor in front of her, made ridiculous faces and noises to get the tiny spoon between the baby’s lips. Both were wearing nearly as much food as was going into Leta’s little mouth. When she didn’t seem to care for the mashed sweet potatoes, Anders made sure she watched as the spoon bypassed her, and made a looping and graceful arc up and into Fenris’ mouth. Her huge eyes widened, and her hands reached for the spoon. Fenris made a big show of enjoying and swallowing the minuscule amount of food. The next spoonful was eagerly taken by Leta.

“You seem in better humor, at least,” Wil commented.

“Don’t start, Vati.” Another spoonful of sweet potatoes made their way into the rosebud mouth.

“You do realize, it’s a fair honor--”

“Let it go, for now, Wil,” Fenris said. He glanced at his father-in-law, hoping to convey that he meant it with all due respect. Wil frowned, but nodded. 

Mina broke the tension. “Are you two hungry?”

“I am,” Anders answered, “But, I think Fenris is full. She’s getting hard to get food into, sometimes. If she thinks someone else is getting it, she takes it better.”

“Those little bites aren’t enough to feed me. I’m hungry,” Fenris declared. Anders smiled, and leaned to kiss him.

“You’re always hungry, my healthy elf. I have two healthy elves to feed. At least you eat.”

Mina came to kiss Leta’s round cheek. “She’s just got another tooth coming in. She’ll get her appetite back when it cuts through. Is she done?”

“I think so.”

“Your daddy made a mess of you, little one.”

“That’s you,” Anders said to Fenris.

“Could be you.”

“You two need to figure out what she’s going to call you. Both of you being ‘daddy’ could get confusing,” Mina pointed out.

“I just figured she’d call me by my name,” Fenris admitted. 

“Oh, come on,” Anders grinned, leaning against his knee. “Don’t you want her to call you daddy, or papa, or something like that? Doesn’t your heart melt just a little to think of it?” 

Fenris considered. “Yes. I do want that. What shall she call us?”

Anders lay his head on his thigh, still grinning. “I want her to call you Daddy. I’ve imagined her calling you that.”

Fenris smiled back. “Truly? And, what will you be?”

“Papa. I want to be her Papa.” Fenris smiled at the longing look on Anders’ face. This was much better than the mood of earlier. How was it, that when they felt at their worst, the Chant could make them feel whole, again? It wasn’t as though the Maker came down and promised to make everything right. Nothing had changed, except that they sang some words together that had meaning for them.

“Then, Papa you shall be,” he said, running his fingers into the soft, burnished gold hair. Anders closed his eyes, humming with appreciation. 

“Guardian 9:40

“Dear Varric,

“We hope Wintersend finds you well and happy. You, and any of the old gang who might be in touch with you.

“Remember the baby we had taken in, whose parent were killed by the rogue templars? Well, we are raising her as our own. Her name is Leta, and she’s more beautiful than I could ever describe. She’s the most precious thing in our world, Varric. I wish you could see her.

“I also wish you could have been at the Satinalia dance last fall. Fenris and my father, and my father’s pal, Schmidt, all got completely sloshed, and started goading each other to perform ridiculous dares. You’d have fit right in, and had far more creative ideas than the three of them. Fenris took on six young men in a single wrestling match, while drunk, and won. Of course he phased the entire time, but I think he’s now considered an honorary adolescent by the boys in the community. They have no idea how right they are. They need to include my mother in that title. She wore that phallic mask the entire week. 

“He and my father built a water tower on the farm last summer. So far, it’s handy for watering stock and getting water to the house when there’s no wind to turn the mill. I do miss heated dwarven plumbing, I tell you. That, and the giant bathtub at Fenris’ mansion. 

“Fenris has done a fair job of breaking-in that filly. He’s named her Bela, after Isabela. He’s got a way with horses, that he doesn’t have with people. Although, I think you’d be surprised to see him, Varric. He’s really opened up, here. He’s not the man you remember. He’s so much more. He’s also very tight with my father, which on one hand makes me very happy; on the other hand, two Fenrises, or two fathers. Either way, it’s kind of weird. 

“This winter was mild, thankfully. In weather, that is. An illness swept through the village and farms, and even with all I could do, the community lost a baby, and our old midwife. My mother and Leta were ill, but shook it off, thank the Maker. It’s times like this that I wish I could have my magic back, for just one minute. Just long enough to heal a dying babe.

“We don’t get much news, here, but what we get isn’t good. The mages and templars are apparently thick in the Hinterlands of Ferelden, fighting each other, and pretty much anyone else who comes along. It’s made people afraid to go on trips out of the village area. Still no other incidents with mages or templars, fortunately. Hopefully our experience last summer was a fluke.

“Our offer stands for hospitality, should you ever decide to travel to our neck of the woods. We miss you, and you have a huge fan-base in our community. We’d all love to see you.

“Maker watch over you,

“Anders.”

It was after supper, and past Leta’s bedtime. Fenris lay on the floor before the fire, the baby sitting on his chest, gnawing on a wooden teething block. He stayed where he was, and listened to Anders talk with his father about the Council. He’d spent the last week thinking about whether or not to take the offered vacancy.

Fenris thought he should. It wasn’t a time-consuming thing. It didn’t call for politicking, or endless meetings, like Varric complained about the Merchant’s Guild. The community pretty much ran itself. If there was a problem, or a decision that couldn’t be made by the populace, the Council stepped-in. Anders had already partaken in several such events, and was quick to issue instructions where matters of public health had been concerned. People already sought his advice. He was his father’s son, after all; and, although he’d never had the chance to be a leader, it came to him naturally.

“My past with Justice is going to be found-out, sooner or later. Ours isn’t the only copy of Varric’s Champion of Kirkwall. Some day, someone is going to find out I was an abomination. How do you think they’ll react to that?”

“The Council already knows, son.”

“What... you told them?”

“It’s the kind of thing they should know. In case....”

“In case I offer up my soul for rent, again?”

 _“Nein._ In case someone does find out, like you said. The village gets wind of your past, someone might get upset, the Council steps in, says they knew all along, and that you’re no risk, and it all settles down.”

“Maker. You hold that much sway?” Fenris was thinking the same thing. Just how much power did this Council have?

“Not exactly. The people trust us. If we, as a united front, hold the same belief, then the village is typically willing to accept it. We don’t tell them what to believe; this is an independent group of people. But, if four respected members of the community are joined in a cause, it has an effect.”

“How hard did you have to campaign to convince them I’m ‘safe’?

“Not hard, at all. You’re no longer a mage. That you lost the demon when you lost your magic makes some kind of sense. And, they’d all gotten to know you and work with you by the time I told them. They saw you, not some unknown abomination.”

“Wow.” That pretty much summed-up Fenris’ thoughts on it, as well. Leta’s teething block bounced off of his nose.

“Ow, baby. That wasn’t very nice.” He could hardly be upset with her, as she grinned down at him.

“Ba-ba-ba-ma-pa-pa,” she gibbered.

“Not Papa, baby, Daddy... say Dad-dy.”

“Did she say Papa?” Anders asked. “And, you’re training her out of it? You know, that’s why she throws things at you.”

“She’s gifting them to me. Go back to your conversation, eavesdropper.”

“You really think the community will be ok with me, young as I am?”

“Many have already put forth your name. It wasn’t just the Council’s idea. And, son... you’re not as young as you think you are. You’ll be forty this year,” Wil smirked.

Anders reached out and tweaked his father’s ear. “Show an old man the respect he’s due, then. Well. I really don’t have any reason to say no. If the Village and the Council decide on me, I’ll step-up.”

Fenris grinned at Leta, who grinned back, her front teeth bared at her father. Apparently, elves get their teeth a bit earlier than humans. “Did you hear that, baby? Your papa is going to be a mover and shaker in this town.”

Anders laughed. “You want me to do my Spicy Shimmy, or something? That’s all that’s shaking in this big city.”

“I’m sure Leta would love to see her papa do the Spicy Shimmy, wouldn’t you, baby girl?”

“Uhhh... it’s really not a family activity, Fenris. More of a close-the-door-for-grown-up-time thing. Speaking of which, isn’t it past her bedtime?” Anders came to sit next to him, and tickled Leta, making her giggle.

“Yes. I wanted to eavesdrop, just like you. Don’t give that to her, she’ll throw it at--ow. What did I just say?”

“I heard you. I think it’s hilarious.” Anders grinned at him. Fenris picked up the little assailant and plopped her in her papa’s lap.

“Put your child to bed, councilman. She’s got a dirty diaper.”

“Thanks a lot, _Daddy.”_

“Maker. You say that, and it just sounds wrong.”

“You don’t wanna be my daddy?”

“No. I do not.”

As soon as Wil informed the Council of Anders’ willingness to join, he was invited to do so. There was no formal announcement, no party. Word simply spread. Indeed, nothing really changed, for the community, nor for Anders. It was a council of necessity, not a council for itself.

Spring moved toward summer. Wil began using the filly, Bela, that he and Fenris had been training, as his mount. She was green, but the only way to change that was time under the saddle. Fenris began working with Patience’s two-year-old colt. Wil and he had decided not to geld or sell him. Patience wasn’t much to look at, but she brought new blood, a healthy constitution, and calm temperament to the farm. Her son would be a fine stud for Bela, as well as any mares the area farmers wished to breed.

Fenris was as happy on the farm as he’d been since they’d arrived. He liked the predictability of the seasonal activities, as well as the unpredictability of the weather and landscape. He was a creature of habit, yet enjoyed being tested by challenge. Farming satisfied both attributes.

He was finding a clear preference for horses. He didn’t mind cattle, and even milking was a soothing chore. He liked the resources chickens provided; eggs, meat, and feathers. The birds, themselves, were insufferable. He had an ongoing feud with the rooster of the flock. No matter what he did, or how he approached, that damned bird would attack; flying at him talons first. After the debacle with the unfortunate broody hen, he was leery of making too strong a defense.

“It doesn’t attack anyone else,” he complained as he, Mina, and Anders stood at the chicken-yard fence. “Why me? I don’t even kill most of them for eating. Mina does.”

“Maybe it’s your white hair,” Mina pondered. “Or, maybe it’s the markings. He might see you as a threat.”

“I am a threat, if he gets those spurs into me.”

“Maybe he remembers you ripped off his wife’s head,” Anders said.

“She ripped her own fool head off,” Fenris reminded him. “Chickens and I just don’t get along.”

“Unless they’re crispy on your plate.”

“Exactly.”

Wil joined them as they watched the rooster posture and puff at Fenris. He held Leta, who was covered in flour.

“Your child got into the pantry when my back was turned. She dumped the bag of flour on her head.”

Fenris took her, chuckling. “You are a mess, silly baby. You’re going to be running all over this farm, any day now.”

The rooster flew at the fence, squawking madly. “Hm,” Anders said. “Maybe it’s an elf-thing.”

“It’s going to be elf-food, if it keeps that up.”

Over the next few days, the house took on a decidedly top-heavy appearance inside. Anything that could not withstand a baby’s attentions was elevated halfway up the wall. The pantry door was kept closed, shelves were put up for books and such. Anders installed high cabinets with locking doors in their room for his potions and supplies. Everything she found went immediately into her mouth. Leta was making the world her plaything, and destruction seemed her preferred game. 

She was also eating everything they gave her, with gusto. She wore much of it. Fenris was grateful that the weather was warming up, as she needed frequent baths. Once the pond got warm enough, he figured it would be easier to just dunk her into it, than to heat up water and get out the wash tub.

“Fenris, you can’t just plop her into a muddy fish pond,” Mina told him.

“It’s not muddy. Much. Anders and I bathe in it all summer long.”

“She’s a baby. I’m putting my foot down.”

“You do that a lot, lately.”

“I would never try to tell you how to parent, sweetheart. But, you don’t have a lot of child-rearing experience.”

“I’m not complaining. I’m commenting.”

“That’s how you complain; you’re always so proper. I taught Erich manners, but once the Circle got ahold of him, Maker only knows where they went.”

“Send him to Tevinter. They’re big on manners. I learned propriety by watching and having it beaten into me.”

“Andraste have mercy. Sweetheart, forget I said anything. You’re doing just fine.”

The bathing issue became a moot point, shortly after Summerday. A stranger in a wagon arrived with a delivery. A large delivery.

“A brass bathtub?” Wil was perplexed. “Why is a bathtub being delivered to our home? Did one of you order this?”

Mina was peering into it. “It’s big enough to sleep in!”

Anders read through the letter that accompanied it. “Holy nugshit. It’s from Varric. He says it’s a belated baby gift for the tired, be-shitted parents. There’s an image.”

“A fairly accurate image,” Fenris commented. He found a bundle of pipes, and hissed with pleasure. “They’ve got heat runes! He sent us hot water pipes! Dibs on the first bath.”

“Hot water pipes?” Mina asked.

“Oh, Mutti, you’re in for a treat.”

The only place for the large tub was in Anders’ and Fenris’ sitting area. Pipes were rigged from the water tower to the house, where the heat-runed pipes connected to the tub. To Mina’s utter delight, Fenris and Wil also connected a heat-runed pipe to the kitchen. She now had hot and cold running water.

There were disputes over the use of the tub. With a hinged wooden screen around it, the luxury of a private, warm bath was more than the family could endure and remain civil. Finally, Fenris and Anders decided they could use it late, after bedtime, and relinquished its use to Anders’ parents during the daytime. Bathing the baby became a sought-after duty.

When Leta turned one-year-old, she met it standing on her own two feet. Walking, really; she was very quickly gaining balance and grace in the upright position.

“That’s gotta be elven,” Anders pointed out. “Human babies just aren’t that good on their feet.”

Fenris beamed proudly as Leta made her high-stepping way across the room to Anders’ outstretched arms. “Yes... she takes after me, that way,” he declared. When she tripped, and fell on her diaper-cushioned behind, she spouted some of her favorite words in a high-pitched, babyish lisp.

_“Oh, shit!”_

“And, takes after you, that way,” Fenris said, shaking his head.

Anders scooped her up, giving her rapid-fire kisses to her face. “Hey, that could be Mutti’s doing. She’s pretty loose with the swears, you know.”

From the bathtub, Mina’s voice carried; “I heard that!”

Giggling from her father’s tickling kisses, she wrapped her little arms about his neck and burrowed into Anders’ shoulder. Fenris’ heart overflowed, completely; more than when she did the same to himself. She was a pure, happy, loving child, and he still marveled that she was theirs. Her hair was a wild nimbus of loose, black curls. Her cobalt blue eyes were just as huge and captivating as when she was born. She was a bit small, compared to the human babies in the village, and more slender, but that seemed to simply be her heritage. Her ears had grown slightly more prominent, but still had the most delicate points he’d ever seen on an elf. As far as Fenris was concerned, there was no more perfect baby in all of Thedas, past or present.

“You’re mooning, again,” Anders murmured.

“The two of you....”

“I get it. Like when you’re holding her,” he rubbed her back, mouthing at Fenris, “Is she sleeping?”

“Almost.”

After putting Leta to bed in her crib, they wandered out to sit on the porch swing and watch the stars emerge. Fenris leaned into the warmth of the man next to him. What he felt for Anders was difficult for him to put to words. The night after the last Satinalia dance, his tongue loosened by drink, he’d spoken all that was in him. Silencing Anders, stilling him, so that he couldn’t be interrupted, Fenris had said and done all that needed to be expressed. 

True to his nature, Anders had let him have his way. With absolute trust, he’d allowed Fenris to spill his heart and satisfy his need to chase the last of Danarius from his soul. He’d found what had been stolen, and then shared it with Anders, and he hadn’t been quite the same since.

Oh, he had dreams, sometimes, that he was back in Danarius’ keeping. He had brief flashes of remembered pain. But, the body he shared with his mate was his own, and now rarely struggled under the past abuses it had endured. It was his to share as he saw fit, and as he and his chosen mate desired. 

It had been overdue, to exorcise those demons. But, at long last, there were only two people in their bed; Fenris and Anders.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Anders asked.

“You.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“You owe me a lot of coppers.”

“Justinian 9:40

“Dear Donnic,

“How goes your efforts toward fatherhood? Managed to carry one to term and push it out your ass, yet?

“I write not simply to needle you, but to give you heart. Anders and I have adopted an orphaned baby. I was far more resistant to the idea of parenthood than Aveline seemed to be. Yet, I have come to the opposite point of view. I am exceedingly content.

“Hope is not lost, Donnic. I suggest exposure of your wife to happy babies. And, change a diaper, to give her hope, as well.

“I hope all is well with you both in these trying days of war.

“Fenris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the story continues, I keep seeing Anders oppose Wil. Just little disagreements on this and that. I like it. He loves his father, but he's his own man. 
> 
> Fenris needed to know the truth of the Wardens.
> 
> Personal note:
> 
> I had a nephew who picked-up "oh, shit" as a toddler. I thought it was funny as hell.


	35. Winds of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby becomes toddler.
> 
> Anders and Fenris are upset by distressing news, for very different reasons.

All Soul’s Day offered many remembrances for Anders. It always did. Karl had always been chief among them. His first real friend after entering the Circle; his first love, ever. Taking his life had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Justice was next. He was never really sure just when Justice had died; was it when they joined, and became Vengeance, or when the Tranquil brand had hit his neck? Whatever they’d become, together, he’d been a being of good, before that; and an important part of who he was, even now. 

Since over a year ago, Leta’s parents had held a bittersweet place in his thoughts. They had been innocent, and had not deserved to die the way they had. Yet, if not for their passing, he would not now be a father to their child. It was a memory fraught with confusing emotions. 

He walked the bonfire path with the rest of the village, Fenris at his side, his parents ahead of them, and his daughter in his arms. She wasn’t tired, and she didn’t have memories of those who’d gone before. She patted his cheeks with her hands, quietly chanting to herself, the occasional actual word sprinkled amongst the nonsense syllables. 

He kissed her smooth, round, baby cheek, smiling as she ducked her head into his throat. Maker’s breath... she made his heart melt. 

Leta’s personality was taking shape, and expressing itself. He kept waiting for the ‘no’s’ and refusals that he’d apparently been famous for. She was remarkably biddable, even at such a young age. She knew what yes and no meant, and she invariably did, or didn’t do, whatever she was told. She wasn’t whiny, and didn’t sulk. It had to be an elf-thing. As a healer, he’d seen many babies that were ill, as she’d been last winter. She’d been so... easy. Fussy, he supposed, with her stuffy nose and cough, but less than he would have expected. 

She was determined, though. Tell her no, to pulling something off of a shelf, and she’d stop without a complaint, and give her disarming smile. Until you were in the next room, or turned away. Then, that shelf would be emptied. Fenris loved it. She was no one’s fool, and quite wily. 

She’d also begun to suss-out her two father’s personalities. When she wanted action, lively playtime, giggles, she came to Anders. He was the one with the peek-a-boo, the exaggerated faces, the raspberry-blowing on her tummy. But, when she needed comfort, or was sleepy, Fenris was the one she raised her little arms to. He would hold her for hours, soothe her to sleep, talk to her in a gentle, loving voice. She could crawl all over him, pull his hair, poke his eyes, throw her toys at him, and he’d let her. But, he wasn’t much for making up games or silly voices. 

Anders knew he’d never played until he moved into his mansion with him. Even then, it had a martial sort of thing, with wrestling or staves. Later, on the farm, he’d learned playfulness. Snowballs, hay pitched onto him from the loft, tickling on the settee... those were his first playtimes. And, Anders delighted to have discovered them with him.

“Papa.” The little girl voice tugged his heartstrings.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He didn’t expect an answer. Not a real one, anyway.

“Hungry.” Oh. Well. He glanced at Fenris, who was glowing with this display of a new word. Mostly a word, it came out ‘hongwy’, but it was clear enough. The elf was digging into his pouch for the boiled egg he carried for just such a request. Peeling it, he handed it over to the grinning girl. 

“What else you got in there?” he whispered.

“Some cheese, and a couple cookies.”

“Cookie?” 

“No, sweetheart. Not now.” He saw the speculative look she cast in her other father’s direction. Fenris had no resistance to her baby charms. It was fine irony that Anders, normally the most easy-going, was the heavy of her two parents. He was not easily swayed by her sweet supplications. Fenris, on the other hand, melted at the first wiggling lip or mischievous grin. Anders saw how this was going to play-out. That cookie would be hers within the hour. He kissed her, again, getting boiled egg yolk all over his chin.

The month of Kingsway was the start of the perfect autumn. Bright blue skies, brilliant colors on the trees. They rode toward the village at a sedate pace. Fenris had Leta in front of him on Patience, the carry wrap like a wide belt around her torso and his waist. One hand on the reigns, his other arm held her securely.

Mail often came mid-week, so they were on their way to check. They also liked to give Anders’ parents some alone-time in the cottage, occasionally. They’d never said a word about wanting any, but Fenris, reformed loner that he was, thought they might need it. So, once a week or so, as work allowed, they took Leta and left the husband and wife alone on the farm.

Anders relaxed in the saddle, enjoying the mild weather and beauty around them. His reverie was interrupted by the elf. Fenris spoke in a low voice. “Anders... look.” Leta had grabbed at the reigns, and now held them, her hands behind the elf’s on the leather straps. Anders grinned, indulgently. 

“You do know, Fenris, we have the smartest baby in all of Thedas.”

“There was never any question,” he replied. 

Anders knew that if Fenris had once had trouble understanding exactly what love was, this little girl had wiped that confusion from his mind. He loved her with a protective, uncompromising, unconditional ferocity. 

As they entered the village, many greetings were sent their way. Anders knew most of the Village folk by name, now. Fenris wasn’t quite as well versed, but he was certainly known by them. Tying off their mounts, and adjusting Leta’s carry-wrap to hold her on Fenris’ hip, they made their way to the little store. 

There was a crowd gathered at the door, excited buzzing in the air. Anders saw Schmidt’s oldest son, in a group of other pubescent boys, standing nearby.

“What’s the news?” Anders asked.

“Orlais is at war.”

“What? With whom?”

“Themselves. It’s a civil war between the Empress and her cousin, Duke something-or-other.”

“Well, thank the Maker it’s not with Ferelden, again.”

The group of boys began muttering defiant comments. “I’d fight! I’d fight ‘em right now. Let ‘em come!”

Anders felt a chill run down his spine, listening to the words of the wanna-be-killers in front of him. He knew they were just young boys, showing off for one another, but he was shaken by their willingness to throw themselves at death.

“You really ready to go to war, then?” he asked. “Look at your friends on each side of you. Now, imagine they’re lying in pieces beside you; blood on the ground, blood over the parts of their bodies you can identify, blood on you. Imagine one or two of them, in pieces, but not quite dead. They’re screaming for their mothers, for the Maker, for you to help find their legs. Take that home and sleep on it, then tell each other you still want to go to war. Because it’s not about bravado and heroes, boys, it’s about death, and mutilation, and terror. Trust me. I know.”

The boys stared at him in horrified silence. Fenris took hold of his arm and led him away.

“You know, you could have just gutted one of them, and been done with it,” the elf muttered.

“They’re so excited for war, and they have no idea what it means. Better they have a nightmare or two than go running off half-cocked to get themselves mutilated.” He had perhaps gone overboard, but if anyone had given him a taste of what his life would be like before he’d made his mistakes, he might not have made them. “Have they already forgotten Leta’s parents?”

“They’re children, Anders, playing at growing up. That’s all.”

He received a visit from Schmidt that evening. Fully expecting a verbal thrashing, he was surprised to have his back slapped, and a gruff, “good work” muttered at him.

“You’re not angry?”

“Angry? _Nein._ Hearing that from a Grey Warden actually sunk into their boneheads. War is no trifle. The way this world is going right now, they need to know that. Word will spread among the _jungen._ Maybe save a life, some day, Maker help us. Because it’s only going to get worse, before it gets better.”

Schmidt’s prophecy was proven within a month. Wil came through the door after visiting the village.

“Son, I’ve heard news that you’re not going to like.”

The story, as he told it was deeply disturbing. The College of Enchanters had voted to separate from the Chantry. The Seekers had declared the Circle of Magi gone. 

Anders was astonished. “How can this be? They can’t just close down the Circles. Where are mages to go? They’re at risk on their own, most of them have no idea how to survive in the real world.”

“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted, Anders? The Circles abolished?” Fenris asked.

Shaking his head, Anders answered. “No. This isn’t what I wanted. What I wanted, was the Chantry out of the Circles. No more templar oversight. I wanted mages to govern themselves in the Circles. They need someplace to learn to use their powers, without being imprisoned. Now, everyone’s being shoved out, prepared or not. There’s children in the Circles. Who will care for them? How will any mages care for themselves? You think anyone will offer them jobs, or housing, or a friendly hand?”

Fenris looked thoughtful. “I... hadn’t thought of all that. This will make them even more dangerous.”

 _“No!_ Fenris! Damn it! It’s not just about whether or not they’re dangerous. These are people, and they’ve just been evicted from the only home most of them know. They’re being sentenced to desperate measures, if they want to live. You only think of them as dangerous; you and Vati, both. Can neither of you have any compassion for their situation? Why does it always come back to this?”

Fenris and Wil simply stared at him. 

He threw up his hands. “Oh, to the Void with both of you.”

He strode from the cottage, frustrated and angry. The worst of it wasn’t Fenris and Wil’s attitude. It was that he knew so many people shared it. The Mage-Templar War had just gained thousands of new recruits, whether they wanted to join, or not. Thousands more targets to be sword-fodder, thousands more potential desperate users of blood magic. That’s all people would see, too. Few would see the desperation that led to it. 

He stopped striding away, and sighed. Why was he so angry? This was nothing new. He knew how Fenris felt. He knew how his father felt. Their feelings stemmed from their fears. They each had their own reasons behind those fears. But, even so....

Running footsteps behind him interrupted his train of thought. Fenris, panic clear on his face, slowed and stopped a few feet away.

“You left.”

“Yes, I left. I’m bloody-well pissed.”

“But, you left.”

“I needed space to--” he was bowled into by an armful of elf. His arms went around him reflexively, and felt him shaking. “Fenris... did you think I wasn’t coming back?”

He didn’t reply, just held Anders in a fierce grip.

“I’m not leaving you. I just wanted to think.”

His heart lurched at the look of abandonment on the elf’s face as he set him away from him and turned to leave. 

“Please don’t go....” Fenris’ voice was broken.

“Fenris, I said I’ll be back.”

“You’re leaving. You’re going to go help the mages.”

 _“What?_ Where did you get that idea?”

“Everything you said. You want to help them, I can see it.”

Anders’ ire was waning in the face of his mate’s distress. “Oh, love. I wish I could help them, but I can’t. There’s nothing I can do. And, even if there was, I’d think pretty damn hard before I did it. Do you honestly think I’m going to walk out on either you or Leta? How do you so quickly forget all we’ve talked about and gone through, together?”

Fenris rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. These mages... all these mages... they’re bigger than me. They’re bigger than all of Thedas. You don’t understand. I’ve seen what a nation full of free mages can do. It scares me, Anders. I have so much to lose.”

“You’re not going to lose anything, Fenris.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Fenris sighed. “Do you still want to get away?”

“Not really. Do you still think I want to leave you?”

“Not really.”

Back in the cottage, Wil gave Fenris a small smile. “I told you he’d be back after he cooled-off.”

“You two really piss me off, sometimes,” Anders said.

“We see that. I’m sorry, son... it’s not my intention.”

Anders grumbled, not entirely mollified.

Fenris wasn’t entirely mollified, either. Anders found himself being aggressively seduced, once in bed. With little finesse, and much vigor, the elf applied himself to pleasuring him. Anders wasn’t pleased, however.

“Stop, Fenris. This isn’t what--” His mouth was covered by the elf’s, effectively halting his refusal. He tried to push him away, only to have his hands pinned down to the mattress. Finally, he was able to twist his head enough to call-out.

“Freedom! Freedom, already!” He sat up as Fenris backed away.

“You don’t want me?” He looked heartbroken.

“Not like this, no. What’s going on in your head?”

“I want to please you.”

“This... Fenris... you’re still afraid I’ll leave, aren’t you?”

“Are you planning to?”

“No! I told you I’d never leave. Not you, not Leta, not this home, not my parents. We’re going to argue. Families fight sometimes, remember?”

Fenris hung his head, despondent. “I’m never going to get this right. ”

Anders smiled softly. “Don’t worry about getting it right. Just say what’s inside you.”

With a deep, cleansing breath, the elf nodded. Then, he reached out to pull Anders closer. “Can I start over?”

Happy to have eased the elf’s worries, he nodded. “Please, do.”

“There’s something in the Naughtycal book that I’ve been wanting to try,” Fenris confessed.

“Really? Show me.”

Pulling the book from its hiding place at the bottom of their trunk, Fenris turned to the drawing he had in mind. Anders grinned. “Congress of the Crow... very nice. I’m game.” Dropping the book beside the bed, Anders pulled the elf into his arms, and began their warm-up.

But, despite his eagerness, Fenris simply wasn’t rising to the occasion. 

“Venhedis, what’s wrong with me?” the elf demanded. “This isn’t normal.” Anders held back the smile that wanted to break through at Fenris’ expression; confusion, dismay.

“You’re overwrought, love. It’s very normal.”

“It’s never happened, before.” He was looking down at himself with disgust, as though his body had betrayed him.

“Which is really impressive, given the crap that’s in your history.”

“You don’t think it’s permanent? _Fasta vass,_ what if it’s permanent?”

A chuckle did escape Anders’ control. “It’s not permanent. Your cock’s not broken, it’s just not in the mood. In a day or so, it’ll be right as rain. Don’t stress over it, alright?” Fenris still looked doubtful, still glared down at his offending member. 

Anders pulled him close, and nuzzled his neck. “Just let me hold you, love. We’ll experiment another time.”

The elf grumbled, but willingly wrapped himself about his mate. Anders knew he was right about him being emotionally overwrought, when after just a moment, Fenris slipped into exhausted sleep. 

He sighed, and rubbed his cheek against the silky hair. Even if, in a hypothetical world, Fenris never regained his libido, Anders would love him just as much. He couldn’t deny that their sex life, complicated as it had been, was phenomenal. But, it was the man he loved, not his erection. The friendship, affection and respect they shared were not common, at all. And, they’d had those long before they’d shared their first kiss.

He felt Fenris moving onto his front, and loosened his hold. Once he’d settled, Anders lay his cheek against the elf’s tattoo’d back, and let the rise and fall of his breathing lull him into the Fade.

Fenris was fine, as Anders had suspected. The next morning, the elf led them both to a blistering climax, just as he’d planned the night before. Anders knew this particular position would feature frequently in their bedroom activities, in the future. It was pure heaven, taking Fenris into his mouth as he was taken into the elf’s. It was almost too much to concentrate on his performance, as Fenris worked his magic on his shaft, in return. Almost. Kissing, afterward, was unbelievably erotic, their tastes mingling so deliciously. 

Satinalia came and went in a blur of masks, frivolity and laughter. There were several similar to Mina’s phallic-breast mask, but hers was still the only gold-foiled, genuine Orlesian mask in the village. Leta wore a hummingbird mask, this year. She walked part of the children’s parade, holding her father’s hands on either side of her, grinning at the attention and bright colors surrounding her. 

Anders and Mina were the designated drunkards at this year’s dance. He didn’t remember all of the evening’s activities, but he remembered laughing hysterically, silly-drunk, as his mother told him a story about his father in his youth. He didn’t remember it, and she wouldn’t re-tell it, once they were sober. He clearly remembered tackling Fenris into their bed, and then shouting himself hoarse as the elf pounded him halfway through the mattress. 

Winter brought the expected amount of snow and cold. Mina had made adorable little boots and fur suits for Leta. She’d been too young to appreciate snow, last year, but at eighteen months, she was more interactive. She was as prancy about it as Fenris had been. She stood rooted to the spot, and shook the cold damp off of her hands. Promptly her arms shot up to the nearest adult, with an imperious “Up!” Anders thought it wouldn’t harm her to let her get used to it for a few minutes before rescuing her, but Fenris couldn’t bear it. He swooped her up, and pressed kisses to her pink cheeks. 

First Day was accompanied by shocking news, particularly for Anders. As the parade wound its way from the farmland into the village-proper, voices were chattering excitedly, and with more than simple holiday buzz. 

“What’s the excitement?” He asked the nearest group of gossipers.

“Haven’t you heard? The Divine has called for a meeting of the mages and templars, to end the war.”

He felt his jaw drop. “That’s... incredible. And, much too late.”

“Better late, than never,” Fenris intoned. “Perhaps this will be the change you sought.”

“Hopefully,” Anders said, doubtfully. “The best I would anticipate is some half-assed attempt at a compromise. And, I can’t imagine any compromise the mages or templars would accept.”

Looking at him askance, the elf said, “For someone who spent the better part of a decade fighting for recognition of the mage plight, you’re awfully skeptical of the steps being taken to address it.”

“Changes should have happened hundreds of years ago.” Anders asked the crowd, “When is the meeting, and where?” 

Several voices replied, repeating the information that had circulated through the village. Apparently, people from all over Thedas were gathering, as they spoke, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, near Haven. 

“That’s not far from here!” an excited voice said.

“It’s a bloody week’s hard travel,” came an answer. “And, that’s in good weather.”

Anders led Fenris away from the crowd. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall at that conclave,” he said.

“You could go.”

“What? I could not.”

“Why not? You’ll get news faster near the source, than in our little out-of-the-way Village. You know this area. You could be there in four nights, traveling light.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Do you want to go?”

“I asked you first.”

“That’s an infantile evasion.”

Anders looked intently at the elf, then at the child on his hip. “No. I didn’t find my parents, and build a family, just to leave it for political intrigue. What’s happening is important, but, my place is here.” He paused, frowning. “I can’t imagine that bringing templars and mages out of a war, and into close negotiations, is going to go smoothly.”

“I agree,” Fenris admitted. “I’ll be surprised if these negotiations are successful.”

Anders sighed. “I’ll be surprised if they even begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like that Fenris is the pushover with the baby, and Anders is the hard-ass.
> 
> Anders' argument with Wil and Fenris over the disbanding of the Circles was one of the touchy plot-points for some people in the original version. It still may be, even with the revision. That's how it goes, I suppose.


	36. And, So Was the Golden City Blackened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is amuck over Haven.
> 
> The Village meets a danger unlike any before seen, putting everyone's life in danger.

Less than a week later, the entire community was bewildered by a resounding blast echoing down the mountain range. People stood, staring, as a mighty flash of light burst through the southern sky. 

Fenris, reinforcing thatch on the cottage roof, watched as the clear, blue sky was rent with putrid green.

“Anders!” he called. Running from the barn, he joined Fenris on the roof. “What is that?” the elf asked.

He shook his head. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Mina came from the house, and stood in the yard, watching. The green splotch roiled, slowly twisting, looking like a wound in the sky. 

Anders shook his head. “It sort of looks like... the Fade.”

“The Fade? In the sky?”

“Well, the Fade can be anywhere, because it’s everywhere. But, I’m not saying it IS the Fade. It just brings it to mind.”

It wasn’t long before Wil was speeding home on the sleigh, the horses lathered.

“Is everyone alright?” he shouted.

“Fine, Wil. Anything unusual in the village?” Mina asked.

Dismounting, Wil climbed on the roof with Anders and Fenris. _“Nein,_ just a lot of scared folks. People wanted me to ask you, Erich. Is it magic?”

“I don’t know. That’s over Haven, isn’t it?”

“Could be. It’s south, and over the range.”

“Blood magic,” Fenris muttered. “Too many angry mages in one place, this was bound to happen.”

“You have no idea that’s what happened, Fenris. Have you seen blood magic do this, in Tevinter?”

“No. That doesn’t mean anything. Even you suspected things would go wrong at the Conclave.”

“I just thought it would be a futile effort. I didn’t think a hole would get blown in the bloody sky.”

“If everyone’s well here, we should be getting to Schmidt’s. The Council needs to meet.”

As they all rode the sleigh to Schmidt’s place, Fenris kept his eye on the lazily rotating blemish in the sky. He was infinitely grateful that Anders had not wanted to attend the Conclave. It sounded like an explosion had gone off. Anything that could do... that... to the sky, would have done unthinkable damage to the surrounding area. 

The Council met, but no one had any better ideas about what it was than Anders’ first impression of the Fade glowing in the sky. And, even he couldn’t be sure that’s what it was, at all.

Schmidt was more interested in practicality than theory. “It’s too far away to have anyone investigate. It’s just too dangerous. The last we’ve heard, Redcliffe was overrun with mages seeking refuge, and the Hinterlands are a warzone. Whatever that is, it’s too distant to do anything to us, at least now.”

“I agree,” Wil said. “We already have watches on the surrounding areas and main road. If they keep an eye on the sky, as well, they can signal if anything changes in the.. thing.”

So, it was decided that the best thing to do was nothing. 

That night, in bed, Fenris and Anders whispered their thoughts, to each other. Although it killed him to admit it, Anders could think of no other cause for the explosion and the strange thing in the sky, than magic. 

“You could be right,” he said. “And, there was probably a huge number of mages in Haven. Templars, too, but let’s face it, templars don’t have that kind of power.”

“Why do you think they did it? This was their chance for change.”

“Like I said, the Conclave was too little, too late. You know how angry I was, as a mage. I wasn’t the only one. There were probably hundreds of mages at the Temple who were angrier than I ever was. Having the templars and Chantry leaders all together in one place... perfect opportunity to enact some serious vengeance. I have no doubt that there were some mages who attended with no intention of accepting a compromise.” 

The community buzzed with talk and speculation of the events. The Thing, as it became known, seemed to be getting larger. The sharpest-eyed watchers claimed they could see flashes, as though pieces of the green light were falling to the ground below it. It slowly grew, and churned, for days... then, stopped. 

It seemed to have stabilized, but it remained, there, up in the sky, like a wound that wouldn’t heal. For several weeks, nothing unusual occurred. Although speculation continued, soon enough, people grew used to the Thing. Life’s mundane demands continued, and work couldn’t stop; farms and businesses needed to be managed, stock tended, families cared for. 

It was generally believed that whatever the Thing was, it had been caused by magic. Anders and Fenris spoke to Wil, Schmidt, and Glina, and pointed out that, if mages had, indeed, attacked the Conclave, then surely templars would be escalating a counter-attack. And, who knew where the battles might travel? Mages and templars had both found their way to Ratzpitz, once. It could happen, again.

With that in mind, the Council had recommended that anyone trained with a weapon reacquaint themselves with it, and carry it on them. Evenings found many practice sessions taking place throughout the farmland and in the village. Bows, swords, and staves were most commonly used, with those most skilled in them leading others in practice. 

Fenris began wearing his armor, again, and carrying his greatsword. It was a bit cumbersome for farm work, but he would not be caught unprepared if trouble came. Anders, for his part, spent extra time preparing potions. He wanted each household to have at least a rudimentary first aid kit, with healing potions and salves. He’d already equipped the perimeter-watch stands with supplies.

Preparing for a fight that might, or might not, come, Fenris felt a fear that he’d never had before battle. He wasn’t preparing to simply defeat an enemy. He was preparing to protect his family. The thought of mages or templars overrunning the village... he shuddered inside. He remembered the templars in the village almost two years ago. He’d seen what abominations could do. War was an entirely different thing, now.

Each day, he came through the door, and Leta toddled toward him, arms upraised, calling, “Daddy!” He swung her high into the air, making her giggle, and felt her little arms wrap around his neck. Anders would stride forward with his bright grin, and pull them into his warm embrace, tickling both of their necks with kisses, making them all laugh, as Leta shouted, “Kisses, Papa, kisses!” 

That was what he would fight for, kill for, die for. War was personal, now.

After a couple months of the Thing’s presence in the sky, people lost their interest in it. Nothing had happened, once it had appeared. It didn’t change, no battles came their way, and very little news, as well. The weapon practice continued, and the watches outside the village perimeter. Then, in early Cloudreach, a letter arrived from Varric.

He was in Ferelden. In Haven, in fact. He’d been dragged to the Conclave after being interrogated by a Seeker of Truth in Kirkwall, but fortunately, had not been present at the Temple when the explosion occurred. 

For, an explosion is what it was. Varric couldn’t say how it happened, only that an enormous Breach had been ripped between the Fade and this world. The Divine and many high-ranking clergy had been killed in the explosion. The Breach was creating Fade rifts all over Thedas, and demons were spilling out of them. 

A new Inquisition had been formed, in the vacuum of power, to bring order to chaos, discover who had done this, and to close the Breach. A man, now called the Herald of Andraste, had survived the explosion, and was able to seal the rifts. The Inquisition was building a diplomatic network, an army, and gathering followers from near and far.

“Listen to this; their Commander of Inquisition Forces is the former Knight Commander Cullen.”

Fenris was surprised. “He’s the leader of this Inquisition?”

“Um... you know, it doesn’t sound like it. If he’s commanding the forces, then there’s probably someone else above him. I didn’t know templars could leave the Order. I mean, with the whole lyrium thing, and all.”

“What’s an Inquisition?” Fenris finally asked.

Wil answered. “The first Inquisition was formed after the First Blight. It defended Thedas from magic and heresy. It later became the Seekers of Truth, and Templar Order.” Wil looked ashen to hear of the death of the Divine. 

Mina was distraught, as well. “The Divine has been killed? Who would do such a thing? Erich, please, tell me magic didn’t do this.”

Hugging his mother, Anders sighed. “I don’t know what did this, Mutti. Although I can’t imagine anything other than magic doing this, I also can’t imagine any number of mages possessing the power to punch through the Veil, like that.”

“The magisters who walked the Golden City had such power,” she replied.

Fenris, oiling his sword, said nothing. But, he agreed with Mina. Magisters, and all mages, were capable of anything, given the opportunity.

“They did. But, they used hundreds of blood sacrifices, and vast quantities of lyrium to do it. I just can’t see anything of this magnitude being accomplished by mages without tremendous resources.”

She wiped her eyes, and shook her head. “That’s not much more comforting. If the mages didn’t do this... then, who did? Or, what?”

Fenris looked at Anders, who looked back, worried. Mina asked an excellent question. If not mages, what?

“Cloudreach 9:41

“Dear Varric,

“Yes, we certainly heard and saw the Breach when it formed. Thank the Maker you weren’t there. 

“We’ve not heard of any such rifts in our area, though we have watches posted. If we come across any, we’ll let you know.

“Stay safe, Varric. Our prayers are with you.

“Maker watch over you,

“Anders.”

Leta turned two years old with the green, twisting Breach still in the sky. She knew what it was called, and would point at it, saying, “Bad Breach.” She cut a wide berth around Fenris’ sword, saying, “Daddy’s ouch.” If he picked her up while still in his armor, she would poke at it with her finger, and demand, “Take it off!” Fenris hated that she knew of any of these things. Hated that she had to live in a world where any of it even existed.

“Everyone grows up in a world where bad things exist, love,” Anders said, lying in bed one night. “There are always bad things. We just have to try to find enough good things to balance them out.”

“I’ve worn armor and a blade most of my life. The moment I had to tell her not to touch the sword, I felt like I was betraying her trust to even bring it into the house.”

“Most homes have a weapon of some kind in them. All three of us carry staves.”

Fenris scowled. “I know. I don’t know why it feels this way. I plan to teach her to use a staff, when she’s older. But, now... I don’t understand what it is.” He pulled himself against Anders, breathing him in. 

“I understand. I do. She’s innocent, and you want to keep her that way as long as possible.”

“I think so.”

“You love her, and want her to be safe. I do, too. And, that blade may be what keeps her safe, if things go awry.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. She’s what’s on my mind when I put that armor and blade on each morning. Her, you, Wil and Mina.”

Anders kissed him, a gentle, slow, lingering kiss that melted his anxieties. His honey-brown eyes were warm, as was his touch caressing along his neck and shoulder. “You’re a good father, Fenris. A good mate. A good son.” 

“As are you,” he whispered. The next kiss melted him just as much, but heated him, as well. Anders’ touch was soft, his kiss sweet. His tongue, dipping into Fenris’ mouth, was lazy and searching, twining with his own. His graceful fingers slid into his hair, cupping his head, holding him gently as their mouths communed. 

Fenris felt wonder at the pleasure that filled him from such a simple thing as the feel of Anders’ leg sliding along his own. Wonder at how this man’s body, which by now he knew so well, was able to bring him thrill after thrill, after having done so for over four years. It was as though their bodies had been specifically created to provide one another pleasure. Many was the time that Fenris had simply looked at Anders, standing across the house, or paddock, or even at a holiday gathering; and felt his belly heat. He’d once gotten hard, simply watching his forearm flex as he’d pulled a girth strap tight.

So, really, he supposed it wasn’t a wonder at all, that the feel of Anders’ bare leg should make him tremble, or his touch make him sigh. Anders could have had most any of the men or women in the village, had he so chosen. Yet, he wanted Fenris. Truly wanted him, judging by the erection that rutted against him, day or night. This man was sought after for healing, for advice, for stories. Yet, he chose Fenris to spend his time with, and share his company. He’d willingly exchanged vows with him, enthusiastically chose to raise a child with him. 

Fenris pulled him closer, his mouth leaving Anders’ lips to whisper in his ear. “Do you have any idea how lucky I am?”

He felt the chuckle against his chest, heard the return whisper. “Not as lucky as I am, love.” His heart beat faster each time Anders used that word. He was loved. He let his head fall back so Anders could feast on his neck and throat. So loved....

He moaned as Anders’ mouth latched onto his shoulder, and sucked, leaving a mark on his skin. “Bite,” he said. Anders bit down on the ridge of muscle along his shoulder, bringing the shivers and coiling tension alive in his belly. 

“How do you want this?” Anders asked, voice taking on the husky tone of his arousal.

“You in me, no commands,” his own husky voice answered. They often enjoyed commands from one another. This time, he just wanted Anders.

Oiled fingers found his entrance while Anders’ other arm held him close, as he continued kissing him, slow and deep. It was easier, now, to prepare him, than it had been in the beginning. His body no longer anticipated pain; it relaxed, awaiting the ecstasy to beset him. He arched along Anders’ body as the fingers found his sweet spot.

“There you go,” Anders murmured, as he gyrated in response. So good. So everlastingly good. He could come this way, too, without his cock being touched. If he let himself ride the sensation, if he could take the excruciating pleasure of prolonged stimulation, he would come harder and longer than any amount of attention to his shaft could bring. He couldn’t always take the intensity, but when he could, it was like nothing else on this world.

“Yes,” he struggled to say, “like that.” Anders was patient, he had nothing but time, when he pleasured Fenris. He rode the fingers in his ass, groaning, gasping, feeling his body twist and thrust of its own accord. Anders did this to him; made his body and mind break their connection, lose control and writhe like a cat in heat.

Anders’ mouth was biting its way down his chest, moaning around mouthfuls of his flesh. He latched onto one the elf’s nipples, and sucked, tonguing the small, pebbled disk. The feeling was like lightning going straight to his cock. His voice rose, a wordless plea, that Anders answered.

Rolling him onto his back, Anders moved above him, and Fenris nodded fervently. His favorite position; he loved to see Anders in his bliss, and his prostate was in place for a hard, sustained attack. The fingers were replaced by a thrusting cock, and Anders’ beautiful voice called out with pleasure.

He wrapped arms and legs around the man above him, face buried against his throat. Anders moved, strong, sensual, beautiful; his thrusts finding Fenris’ sweet spot, and drawing cry after cry of need from his throat. 

His eyes opened so he could see his mate above him, face a mask of ardor, eyes half-lidded as he watched Fenris climb the heights. He wanted to speak, to tell him how it felt, to share what he did to him, but he could barely breathe. 

Anders managed to choke out, “Need touch?”

“...n-n-no....” 

He was ready for the intensity. Anders pulled him tight, and rode him hard. He heard him gasping, panting, groaning as he gave Fenris what he needed. The sensation began to take him. Floating... drawing tense... bliss... his body was a tight coil of intense pleasure. The peak was just there... just out of reach... 

A choked voice sounded faint, far away. “Fenris... oh, Maker... so...so....”

 _Good._ He exploded. His body convulsed, spasms rolled through him, stealing his breath... again, and again... for an eternity, he came.... Anders’ voice reached a crescendo as his body lurched, and spent within. 

Fenris’ lungs finally drew air, before he blacked-out; though it happened, sometimes. Anders’ delicious weight on him, his scent surrounding him, his hot breath in his ear. 

And, then, the question he couldn’t stop asking, no matter how many times they pleasured one-another, no matter how much of his past had been defeated.

“Did I please you?”

And, the gentle words that always replied. “More than you’ll ever know.”

But, by now, he thought he might. 

Sweating in the Solace sun, Fenris worked with Patience’s colt. His armor, once a part of him, felt tight and muggy against his skin. He’d grown accustomed to loose trousers and light tunics in the past few years. He’d begun calling the colt Dozy, as he was so mild and mellow that he seemed to be half-asleep, half the time. Wil had shook his head, once, watching him. No two-year-old colt was that laid-back. Yet, he was. They began to question keeping him for stud, uncertain if ‘walking coma’ was a trait they wanted to pass on. Dozy learned readily enough, if only to appease his handler and be allowed to go back to basking in the sun. Fenris figured that if he wasn’t much for breeding, they’d geld him, and he’d train him for Leta to ride when she was older.

A flash in the southern sky caught his eye, and he turned to see the Breach whirl and contort, then suddenly... heal? Close? He wasn’t sure what had happened, but it looked less than it had been. It was less ominous, less terrifying. 

Speculation ran through the village, with nothing more to go on than imagination. Although not certain, general consensus felt that the Breach had been closed. Anders and Fenris knew they’d hear from Varric soon, and he’d tell them just what had happened.

But, they didn’t hear from Varric. Less than a week later, news came to the village with a delivery for the store. The gist of it was, a messenger traveling to Haven had arrived to find it destroyed. Burned, buried in snow, absolutely demolished. No one remained to tell what had happened.

With that frightening news also came word that the Inquisition had healed the Breach, with the aide of the mages from Redcliffe. The Mage-Templar war was over, the Breach was healed, and gossip was spreading that the remaining templars had attacked Haven in vengeance the very night of the closure.

The Council agreed that some of what they heard might be true, but news heard this far out was often mixed with fiction. Fenris and Anders were deeply concerned, for Varric’s sake. He was a good friend, and had been, since they’d met him ten years ago. 

“We don’t know that no one survived. If it was a frontal attack, they may have escaped into the mountains,” Anders said. 

“They may have been caught unawares,” Fenris said. “How could they survive being buried under snow, then burned?”

Wil tried to ease their worry. “Your friend Varric wrote that they had an army. I’m sure they were able to defend themselves. You’ll hear from him, as soon as they find a new base of operations.”

Fenris and Anders agreed, though with doubt in their hearts. That evening, the two of them led the Chant in their home; singing a prayer to honor those who may have died, to help those who may have lived, and to comfort those who awaited knowledge of both.

 _“O Maker, hear my cry:_  
_Guide me through the blackest nights._  
_Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked._  
_Make me to rest in the warmest places._

 _“O Creator, see me kneel_  
_For I walk only where You would bid me._  
_Stand only in places You have blessed._  
_Sing only the words You place in my throat._

 _“My Maker, know my heart:_  
_Take from me a life of sorrow._  
_Lift me from a world of pain._  
_Judge me worthy of Your endless pride._

 _“My Creator, judge me whole:_  
_Find me well within Your grace._  
_Touch me with fire that I be cleansed._  
_Tell me I have sung to Your approval._

 _“O Maker, hear my cry:_  
_Seat me by Your side in death._  
_Make me one within Your glory._  
_And let the world once more see Your favor._

 _“For You are the fire at the heart of the world,_  
_and comfort is only Yours to give.”_

The entire village was subdued for days. People were frightened and unsure. Was the Breach still a threat? Had the fledgling Inquisition, that seemed to be the only order in Southern Thedas right now, perished? What did the future hold? In the cottage, they felt the same fears, and another, more personal one. What had happened to their good friend, Varric?

Before the month was out, they knew. A letter was delivered to them by a courier in strange garb; a tunic with heraldry of a large eye impaled by a sword. He was from the Inquisition, itself, and bore a message from Varric.

“He’s alive!” Anders shouted. “Thank the Maker.”

His letter left them unsettled, however.

“The Elder One?” Wil asked.

“Yeah. That’s what his underlings apparently call him. I knew him as Corypheus. I didn’t so much know him, as kill him. I fought him with Varric and Hawke, years ago. He was dead. Really dead. This is worrisome.”

“What exactly is he?” Mina asked.

“Um... well, what we kind of thought, and what Varric sort of alludes to, is that he’s one of the ancient magisters.”

Wil stood, alarmed. _“That defiled the Golden City?”_

“Uh... yeah. Maybe. I mean, we can’t really know, can we? That was a thousand years ago. But, he sort of fits the profile. Especially after this Breach.”

“And, he’s commanding the remaining templars?” Fenris asked. “With red lyrium? He’s Tevinter, alright.”

Later, in private, Anders showed the elf part of the letter he hadn’t read out loud.

“Grey Wardens are disappearing? Why would they do that?”

“Well, I haven’t exactly been on the Warden Wintersend mailing list, have I? Maybe they’ve been called by Weisshaupt to deal with Corypheus. He’s darkspawn, after all. The original darkspawn. Ugh. He was really something unnatural.” 

“I’m glad I missed that mission. And, why does Varric say he’s sending for Hawke?”

“Search me. Maybe ol’ Garrett knows more about Corypheus than I do. Admittedly, I wasn’t in the best shape when we were in the Warden prison. Varric says their new fortress, Skyhold, is actually fairly close to Ratspitz. So, if we want to go visit him, or Hawke, while he’s there....”

“I don’t want to see Hawke. I wouldn’t mind seeing Varric, but this is the worst time of year to take off and leave the farm.” In truth, Fenris simply didn’t want to leave the farm. He worried that he’d be gone when something happened. The Templar-Mage War was over, but there would be scattered apostates and rogue templars still at large. And, who knew what this Corypheus might do? 

“Yeah. I know. If you wanted to, though, I’d understand. Maybe I’ll pester Varric to come visit us.”

He never had the chance. All Soul’s Day came in the August heat. The entire population was gathered in the village, singing the Chant before walking the bonfires in remembrance.

When a fire arrow arched through the night sky from the southern watch, people took a moment to respond. Staring in disbelief and fear, they watched as it flew, then fell. In the sudden silence, no one moved. 

Then, men and women sprang into action. Children were herded toward home. Those prepared to fight took their weapons, and on foot and horseback, sprinted to the watch stand. Leaping fences and brush, calling to one another, they moved like a wave across the farmlands.

Fenris had handed Leta to Mina with a quick kiss to her cheek, and sprinted alongside Anders and Wil to the southern watch. The stand was a distance from any farmland, on the grass-covered plain outside the Village. The young man on duty was waiting anxiously, practically dancing, like a child who needed the loo.

“It just appeared, out of nowhere!” he cried. “There are... _things..._ coming out of it. Maker preserve us, what is it?”

A green light shone over the grass of the field. Like a suspended gossamer veil, it writhed in mid-air, making odd, popping echoes. Fenris could see creatures milling about near it, and some looked frighteningly familiar. He shared a look with Anders. Both knew what those creatures were, and what that thing had to be.

“It’s one of the rifts. Those are demons,” he said. Others were arriving, and the word spread. He heard ‘rift’ and ‘demons’ being repeated with varying levels of panic and calm. 

Wil looked to Fenris and Anders. “You’ve got the most battle experience. Lead on.”

Giving instructions to those present, Fenris left Anders behind to manage injuries, as well as keep them from both being in mortal danger at one time. With as many willing and able fighters as they had, the battle went surprisingly well. A few people, upon coming face-to-face with the horrific creatures, turned and ran. Others took their place. It wasn’t just the demons; patches of ground underfoot would suddenly boil and blacken, then burst with energy, throwing anyone standing there to the ground. It was a steep learning curve. With moderate injuries, the demons were defeated. 

Schmidt and Glina had arrived, and as Anders tended to the wounded, they discussed what to do about the rift. A loud popping and whooshing noise drew their attention. The rift had sent out arms of green light, and suddenly, more demons were milling about the field, again.

Anders stood beside Fenris, shaking his head. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Another team of fighters went forward, and another battle began. 

After this repeated several times, it became apparent that this was not going to stop, anytime soon. Anders was pressed for more information about the phenomenon. 

“Look, I just don’t know,” he repeated, for the umpteenth time. “I’ve been in the Fade, but it was through a ritual. The Fade never came to me, like this. Varric didn’t say how the Herald closed the rifts, and I haven’t got a clue.”

Schmidt, ever the pragmatist, spoke. “We can’t close it, so far as we know. That leaves us with damage control. We need to set up shifts of teams, to manage the influx of demons around the clock. Mixed teams of blades, staves, and bows. Some seem vulnerable to fire, so let’s set up some perimeter bonfires, to help contain them.”

“I’ll gather extra potions to bring to this stand,” Anders said. “There’s going to be injuries.”

With every able-bodied person who could handle a weapon was put on rotation, and an exhausting regimen was begun. Those who could not fight, or were too frightened, cared for the children and farms of those protecting the community from the demons.

Anders wrote an impassioned plea to Varric, and sent it off with an experienced runner, in the hope that, somehow, help could come. Mortals tired, demons did not.

The fight went on.

For days, the people of Ratspitz rallied their courage and strength, and fought horrors such as most had never imagined. Fenris and Anders came to realize that what they had once come to consider just another day on the job was, for most people, a nightmare come true. Many of the older members of the community had seen, or fought, darkspawn in the Anderfels. None had actually come across demons. Both of the men wondered just how bizarre their lives really had been, that demon-killing was something they took for granted.

It was noted that the rift seemed to replenish the demons when those demons that had already come through were killed. A couple of shades had been missed in the chaos of a battle, and wandered in the grasses and trees for a time before they were noticed and killed. During that time, no further demons came through the rift. After that, a couple of the least difficult demons were left alive for as long as possible, and corralled in the area surrounded by bonfires. Eventually, they’d need to be killed, and a new batch would manifest.

“Is it just me, or are the demons getting bigger and badder?” Anders asked. Night had again fallen, and the rift glowed eerily in the flickering darkness within the ring of bonfires. He had just returned from what was supposed to be a sleep-break at home, but judging by the batch of new potions he was carrying, he hadn’t rested.

“They are. They’re beginning to outstrip our average fighter.” Fenris had easily done the most damage during the past few days, using his lyrium markings to great advantage. Watching him in action, those present were even more impressed with the elf they’d come to know over the past four years. He was a true warrior, and clearly the one who was keeping this battle on an even keel.

“You need to rest, Fenris. Vati’s out cold at the cottage.”

“How’s Leta?”

“Fine, she’s happily destroying her paper dolls. You still need to rest.”

“Our home, and our child, are just a few hundred yards past that tree line. I’m not leaving this battle.” His greatest fear was one of those demons making its way past the perimeter, and ending up on their farm. He’d finally placed a young woman on watch on that side of the perimeter. She’d blow her whistle if something came through.

Anders grumbled, but didn’t argue. 

The fight went on.

There were demons that Fenris had never seen. Tall, with too many spindly limbs. Anders said he’d never seen them, but based on his studies at the Circle, thought they might be Envy demons. There were Terror demons, with long tails, that came out of the ground in ambush. Fenris had seen these in Tevinter, during Maker-knew-what ceremonies Danarius had attended.

They lost a man to an Envy demon, a widower who raised pigs. If a health potion, or one of Anders’ topical potions, was used quickly enough, most injuries could be healed, or at least contained. But, a stove-in skull, or pierced heart, nothing could cure. Fenris remembered the festering of Anders’ wounds, caused by the abomination. The same thing happened, here, with demon claws. Other demons didn’t rely on physical force, but used powers from a distance. Many injuries came from burns or frostbite of demons spewing fire and ice. 

Anders had set-up a field hospital beyond the watch-stand, out of harm’s way. He couldn’t tend to the injured if they left the field, he was needed too much to make rounds at people’s homes. He alternated between moving into the battle and remaining at the back with his patients. More injuries were occurring as time passed, due to simple exhaustion.

All the fighting folk were fatiguing. Nearing on a week of constant battle, Fenris was being kept afloat with stamina potions. Anders argued that he needed true rest, the potions could only work for so long. But, the reality was, Wil and Fenris were their best melee fighters, and Fenris was the better of the two. He was afraid of what the cost of his sleep would be.

He took a moment to rest and eat a quick meal at the watch stand. Wil led a group to battle a new crop of demons, Anders along with them. He was brought to his feet when an agonized scream cut the air.

An Envy demon loomed over Wil’s prostrate body, finally being taken down by the combined efforts of archers and fighters. Fenris sprinted to the collapsed form of his father-in-law, Anders already at his side. He was unconscious, but alive; immense claw tracks cut down his face and through his chest. Blood bubbled from his mouth and nose with each breath.

Between them, they pulled him from the field and to the hospital area. Anders worked frantically, removing the torn shirt, cleaning the claw marks. As he worked, Fenris could see the severity of the wounds. Two claws had scored his face to the bone, his right eye torn away. His ribs were laid bare, the muscle in shreds. He could see air bubbling through the blood in his wounds as he breathed. 

When Anders poured the healing potion over the wounds, the same smoke billowed out as had when Fenris did the same for Anders’ wounds, in the clinic, so long ago.

Wil jerked into consciousness with a groan of pain. He coughed, spraying blood. Anders applied poultices to cover the deep, open wounds to his face and chest, then supported his father’s head.

“Vati... I need you to drink these.” With difficulty, several potions went down the injured man’s throat. His breathing smoothed, the coughing of blood slowed.

“How bad....” Wil’s voice was weak through his straining breaths. 

“Your lung’s punctured, the wounds are deep,” Anders struggled with his answer. “The festering....” His voice broke. His face was too easily read. Wil was dying. “We should get you home, Vati. Let Mutti tend to you. I’ll come....”

Wil shook his head, pulling painful breaths. “ _Nein._ I’ll be fine, here. You treat me, just as you treat the rest. And, don’t tell your _mutter._ I’ll not have her worried.”

“Vati....” Anders’ face was filled with agony. 

Wil grasped his son’s hand in his own. “Please, Erich. Do as I ask. If it’s the Maker’s will that I die, then I will die, and I’ll have no regrets. I’ll not have you leave others who need you. I won’t have my wife suffer through my dying.”

Pressing a kiss to his father’s hand, Anders nodded. He stood then, grabbed Fenris’ hand, and pulled him into the shadows beyond. Then, he was in the elf’s arms, shaking. Fenris held him, his heart aching every bit as much; but, he knew Wil wouldn’t die. Because he _couldn’t_ die. He was _essential._ He was the only father-figure Fenris had ever known, and he needed him. Mina needed him. They all needed him. He refused to acknowledge the possibility that Wil could die.

“You healed, when you were injured by the abomination....” Fenris began to remind him.

Anders shook his head. “You saw his wounds, Fenris. I won’t be able to fight the festering and infection fast enough. Oh, Maker preserve me, without magic, I can’t save my own father.” Tears fell, then, as he sobbed into Fenris’ neck.

The elf pulled him tight, and let him weep. But, he couldn’t agree with the healer. He was wrong, and Wil would be fine. He was strong, he was needed. Fenris held him even tighter, squeezing doubt out by force as it tried to worm its way into his heart.

Anders pulled away, finally, wiping his face. His voice was rough with emotion. “Come on. We need to make his sacrifice count.” 

The fight went on.

Two days passed. Wil weakened, despite Anders’ best efforts. The wounds swelled and turned dusky. A foul odor wafted from them. The potions had less and less effect, his coughing worse, spraying blood with each spasm. He was never alone; Anders, Fenris, and Schmidt all sat with him in turns. Anders didn’t return home, he knew his mother would see something amiss the moment she looked at him. Schmidt went to bring supplies, and told her that they simply couldn’t be spared to leave. 

It was night, the sun having set a few hours prior. The rift lazily twisted and contorted in the darkness. A last shade, making its way too far into the surrounding fields, was taken down. The rift hummed, popped, and spat, and suddenly, two huge, shadowy forms rose from the arms of green light. Pride demons.

Fenris and Anders both swore under their breath. There would be injuries, perhaps death. 

The Pride demons attacked with raw physical power and whips of electric energy. Several men went down, injured, with one strike. Anders pulled them from the fray, dosing them with healing potions. 

Fenris, and several others had one Pride demon on the ground, nearly dead. Anders made another rush to save a downed fighter, and was caught in the full force of the second demon’s electric whip. Fenris turned in time to see the healer knocked through the air, and dropped in a heap.

 _“NO!”_ he bellowed, and began a sprint to his side. Before Fenris could get there, Anders was suddenly lit with bright light, lifted into the air, and dropped gently to his feet. From the darkness beyond the rift, magic bursts and crossbow bolts beset the demon, while the rift itself was suddenly at the receiving end of a beam of green energy. In a very short time, the remaining demons, and the rift, were gone.

Everyone stood in exhausted relief, hardly able to fathom what had just occurred. Then, a great cheer broke-out, and the exhausted villagers danced and embraced in hyperkinetic joy. Fenris pulled Anders to him, and found him hale and whole.

They turned to see a group of people walking into the light of the bonfires. Fenris saw only one thing--a mage was among them.

Without a thought, he ran forward, grabbed the mage by the wrist, and dragged him forcibly to the end of the field. He supposed he should have been surprised that he wasn’t on the receiving end of a lightning bolt, but the man simply followed without protest, Anders in hot pursuit.

Once he’d pointed Wil out to the mage, the man smiled gently, and said, “I will need my hand.”

He’d forgotten what healing with magic was like. So fast, so painless, so complete. Wil glowed blue, gasping, and then... he was healed. Anders began pulling the poultices and bandages away, shouting, “Yes... yes... _yes..._ oh, Maker be praised.” Wil was grinning up at them, embracing Anders, then trying to push his son aside so he could sit up. He looked a bit confused, then, and held his hand to his missing eye.

“I’m sorry,” the mage said. He was an elf, Fenris finally noticed. A bald elf with a gentle voice. “The damage to your eye was too severe, even with magic.”

Wil pulled his hand away, still grinning. “I’ll not begrudge so small a sacrifice to the Maker’s blessing of life,” he said firmly. He stood, finally, with Schmidt and Anders’ help. Two fine scars ran down the right side of his face, and four down his chest. 

Taking in the sight of the mage standing before him, Wil gave a wry grin and nodded. He held his hand out, and shook the mage’s gratefully when he extended his in return. At Anders’ urging, the mage began healing their wounded. Schmidt and Wil were embracing, pounding each other’s backs in celebration.

Fenris clapped his hand over his mouth to stop the trembling chin, and sobs that wanted to escape. Wil would live. He was alive, and mostly unharmed, and taking Fenris in his arms for a hug. He wrapped his arms about his neck, feeling like Leta when she was tired, and would do the same. He wished Wil could pick him up, and hold him, like a child. He was so, so, tired.

“It’s alright, Fenris.” Wil let him hang on him, knew, as he always knew, what Fenris was feeling; that he was in the midst of a near collapse from relief, exhaustion, and fear.

“I wish you’d been my father,” his voice cracked.

“I’d have been proud to be your father,” Wil said. Fenris felt a chuckle. “Though, that would make things awkward with Erich.”

He began to chuckle, too. Then, to laugh. It wasn’t that funny of a comment, but he laughed, because there was nothing to cry about, and that was a Maker-blessed miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo.... The Inquisition.
> 
> It was interesting to take on DAI from the POV of the average citizen. Most of the population of Thedas had no clue what was going on, nor did they have the means to battle the rifts. Only through their connection with Varric did Anders and Fenris get the information they had.
> 
> Remember when the men left Kirkwall, Merrill said, "May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent"? Yeah... he caught it. Thank goodness. ;-)


	37. Varric Tethras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric meets the family and they all learn many things.

Varric Tethras smirked to himself as they’d approached the group of people at the far end of the field. Normally--if normal was a word that could be used in this screwed-up world, anymore--the people in the villages and towns that they saved ran toward them, not away. But, Blondie and Broody had never really played by the rules of convention, anyway.

When they’d headed straight for the bald elf, only to bum’s-rush him to the far end of the field, he’d just shook his head with a smile.

“What was that? Where are they taking Solas?” The Inquisitor stood in surprise.

“That, beloved Inquisitor, was my two long lost pals, kidnapping your mage.”

“But, why?”

Cole’s voice answered. _“Fear, pain, sorrow, grief. He’s dying, don’t leave me, don’t leave us, you’re the only father I have. They need him. Only magic can fix it.”_

“There you have it, Herald,” Varric said.

A grizzled, scarred man with a longbow and thick Ander accent approached. “We can’t thank you enough, but we’ll try. First, those _jungen_ need a mage to heal a good man. Demon got him. I’m Schmidt, Ratspitz Councilman.”

Varric immediately liked Schmidt. He was a bowman, and that was always a sign of taste and refinement. He was straight-forward. And, something about him said that in spite of his age, he was a man to be reckoned with. They followed him to the crowd of folk celebrating at the end of the field. When a blue flash of healing energy shone in the darkness, Solas’ abduction was explained.

They were damned tired, and walking the field was about all he had left in him. Two days ago, a messenger had dropped a stack of letters on Varric’s table in the great hall. He usually had a stack on delivery days; he had a lot of business to attend to, both Inquisition-related, and personal.

He’d sorted through it, grunting at the bills, frowning at the missive from the Merchant’s Guild, then grinning at a letter from Blondie. Well, grinned until he’d opened it, that is. A rift, near their village, can the Inquisition help? It was dated several days earlier; deliveries still took time, unless they went by crow. Varric knew full well what fighting-off the never-ending supply of demons was like for the average man. Blondie and Broody weren’t average men, but they were only two, and if he knew them, they’d been fighting since the damned rift had appeared.

So, _hell, yes,_ the Inquisition could help. As it happened, the Herald’s team had just returned from Crestwood, and were all looking forward to a couple day’s rest. That didn’t amount to nug-shit when his friends needed him. The Herald was a decent guy, not at all the kind of personality Varric would have expected from a noble family. Although, Varric himself was from a noble family, and he was decent as all get-out, if he said so, himself. The important point was, the Inquisitor, fatigue etched in the lines of his young face, had simply nodded, and sent for his crew.

It was two days of hard riding to get through the maze of mountains, switchbacks and narrow trails, but they hadn’t stopped other than to water the horses. Varric kept remembering that Anders had said they had a baby, now. They had a whole family, a community, and he’d never heard so much happiness in the former abomination’s words as what he’d read in those letters he’d gotten over the years. They had to get there, and fast.

Now, nearing the celebrating group of people, he saw Fenris in an ecstatic embrace with a man Varric first took to be Blondie with a beard. Then, he caught a glimpse of Anders further away, talking with Solas. Looked like Chuckles was doing some healing among the downed fighters. The man in Fenris’ arms had to be Blondie senior, then.

“Varric!”

Anders loped forward on those mile-long legs of his, and pulled Varric into a tight embrace. “Maker, I’m so glad to see you,” he declared. Then, he bent down and kissed the dwarf full on the mouth.

Varric sputtered, laughing and swearing. “Damn, Blondie, I’ve heard absence makes the heart grow fonder, but...” He was interrupted by another embrace, this time from the elf; who, thankfully, didn’t kiss him. They were laughing, shaking hands, beating each other’s backs. Introductions were made all around, and a resounding chorus of _“Huzzah!”_ went up several times from the gathered crowd. The Inquisition did that to people, he’d noticed. It was good to be a part of it.

It wasn’t long, though, before everyone began to droop. The Herald and the three present members of the Village Council, which included Anders, to Varric’s surprise, talked. They would set up camp anywhere they liked, the villagers would go home and get some sleep, and a welcome gathering would commence in the village at mid-morning. Everyone was fall-down exhausted. Fenris looked like a shambling corpse.

With more hugs and thanks, he watched Anders, Fenris, and Wil wearily mount their horses, and disappear into the darkness. He turned to gather their own mounts at the other end of the field, and, thankfully, collapse for the rest of the night in the comfort of their tents.

“They’re happy, now,” Cole said. “I’m glad we helped.”

“Me, too, kid. Me, too.”

The next morning, refreshed from most of a night’s sleep, the Inquisitor’s group was escorted into the village. It was like many other villages they’d been to, or through. The most notable difference was the lack of a Chantry. Instead, there was a large building, its walls raised, and table after table of foods being laid-out. This was a breakfast then; Varric was pleased. Travel rations were bad, and contrary to popular belief, hunger was not the best seasoning.

They met the remaining member of the Council, a woman named Glina, and were shown to seats of prominence among the many tables.

He heard his name called, and looked up to see Blondie making his way toward him, a huge grin on his face. The man looked good. He’d been looking good, before he left Kirkwall. Probably had a lot to do with losing Justice. That dark intensity he’d had for as long as Varric had known him had disappeared even before the group had returned from Orlais. And, despite the enormous loss of his magic, he’d been working hard to build a new life prior to leaving for Ferelden. He had to hand it to the guy, Anders had grit.

Now, as he approached through the crowd of gathering Villagers, Varric leaned back and watched with a writer’s eye for detail. Blondie was relaxed. Smiling. Confident. He walked with assurance, returning the greetings that were called to him from dozens of people. He was healthy, with meat on his bones; and even after a week of fighting demons non-stop, he looked less exhausted than he had while carrying Justice. This was a man who knew who he was; a man his neighbors knew, and respected. He looked good with that longer hair, too.

Varric stood to greet him, and was pulled into another hug. “You’d better not kiss me again, Blondie. Bianca’s mighty jealous.”

With a laugh, Anders released him, and took a seat across the table. “Now that I’ve crossed it off of my bucket list, I’m good.”

“I hear that, a lot. Where’s Broody? And, your family?”

“On their way. They had some things to bring for the breakfast. And, I let Fenris sleep a bit longer. He fought for nearly five days, straight.”

It was good to sit across a table from his friend, again. He listened as Anders described the rift, and the battle the village had fought to keep it controlled. He watched as more people passed by, greeting him, slapping his shoulder. This was the man who’d skulked in the shadows for so many years, hiding from notice, dodging templars, living in obscurity in the sewers. Here he was, a respected leader of his community, still a healer, at ease in his own skin.

“Here they come!” Anders pointed, and Varric turned to see his father, whom he’d met last night, now with a rather dashing eye patch, walking with his arm about a short, dark-haired woman. That must be Blondie’s mother. She was beaming, calling to friends as they walked. They waved at Anders, and took a seat at a table near theirs.

As they sat down, Fenris came into view behind them. Now, there was a change to behold. Wearing trousers, instead of fitted leggings; a loose green tunic, instead of armor, and no sneer. He also received greetings from the assemblage, nodding in return. His attention, however, was focused elsewhere. One arm supported a toddler on his hip; a petite elven girl, a riot of black curls framing her face. His other hand balanced a plate, that the little girl was pointing at, grinning that infectious grin all kids seemed to have. Astonishing enough, Fenris was grinning back, eyes twinkling.

When they arrived at the table, Anders took the plate, and Fenris took a seat, setting the child on his lap.

“So... this is the little lady I’ve heard about,” Varric said.

The sweet adoration on both men’s faces was enough to give a toothless man a cavity. Fenris smiled, again. “This is Leta. Leta, that man is Varric. He’s Daddy’s friend.”

The child looked soberly across the table at him with huge blue eyes. He would have sworn she was evaluating him. Then, she broke into a giggle, and hid her face against Fenris’ chest.

They all chuckled. “Leta, huh? After Daddy?” Who the hell would have ever thought Fenris would be a daddy?

“Yes. She’s a little shy around strangers.”

Shy or not, she looked up with interest as Anders uncovered the plate the elf had brought.

“Blackberry tarts!” the healer exclaimed happily.

“For the Inquisition that pulled our collective butts out of the fire, last night,” Fenris said.

The group gave collective happy thanks, starved, waiting for whatever signal would start the meal. They dug into the pastries.

“These are exceptional,” Solas said, next to him.

“Damn, they really are,” Varric said. “Your mom make these?”

Anders, mouth full, jerked a thumb in Fenris’ direction.

“You’re shitting me.”

The elf just smirked, and took one for himself.

“Bite!” came the imperious demand of the girl on his lap. Fenris held it for her to nibble, then took his own bite.

“You give her too much sugar, she won’t eat breakfast,” Anders warned, reaching to tickle her ear. She giggled delightedly.

“No, Papa!” she grinned. So, he did it again, and she collapsed into more adorable giggles.

“I haven’t seen her in almost a week,” Fenris said. “She can have anything she wants.”

“Bite, Daddy!” Fenris pretended to bite at her neck, sending her into more infectious laughter. “No-no-no-no! That. I want that,” she said, pointing at the tart in his hand. She got it, of course.

Varric felt himself staring, and couldn’t stop. This brief moment of happy domesticity was having a hard time navigating his brain. This was not the memory he carried of these two men. Sure, he knew they were romantic partners. He even knew they’d taken in a child. So, Blondie was a village leader, fair enough. And, Broody was a master pastry chef, OK. But, this? This happy, fatherly, loving scene before him? Was this something he could incorporate into his understanding of these men? A grin split the dwarf’s face. Yeah. _This._ This was great. This would be a helluva nice addition to the older, darker stuff from their past.

Soon enough, Wil stood, and addressed the entire assembly. He looked pretty good for a guy with one foot in the Fade, last night. He spoke of the Village’s bravery and effort, of their injury and loss. Then, he spoke of the Inquisition’s response to the cry for help, and their healing, not just of the rift, but of himself, and so many others. Thunderous applause echoed in the warm, morning air.

The speech and welcome was nice, it always was. But, when they launched into singing Prayers For the Despairing, his breath was nearly taken away. For, Ratspitz Village truly sang; not the chant heard in every Chantry across Thedas. _They sang._ They harmonized. They put a beauty to the words that Varric had simply never heard, before.

He was surprised to see, and hear, Fenris and Anders both singing along, Fenris taking the bass harmony, Anders the tenor. He didn’t realize Fenris even knew the Chant of Light. And, he'd imagined Anders would resist the Chant due to its close association with the Chantry. His group was just as entranced as he; Cole, especially, had that look of delight that only really good things could put on his sorrowful face.

When it ended, the silence itself seemed to carry the beauty. Then, people began serving themselves, chatting, eating, drinking. The Inquisition dug in, alongside their newfound friends.

“So, Hawk was at Skyhold,” he began.

“So you wrote,” Fenris replied. He didn’t seem much interested. He seemed much more interested in getting eggs into his daughter.

Anders shrugged. “We both had our fill of Hawke... um... that was unfortunate wording.”

Varric sniggered. “Yeah. I know. He got us in contact with a Warden. Turns out, all the Grey Wardens in Orlais got the Calling at once. Maybe in Ferelden, too, but it’s hard to know.”

Both men looked up in surprise. Fenris looked at Anders. “You haven’t....” he began.

“No. Nothing. All at once, Varric? That’s... extraordinary. And, terrible.”

“We think it might Corypheus’ doing,” the Inquisitor said. “You met him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. We killed him, too. Shit.”

 _“Shit!”_ came the happy voice of the child in Fenris’ arms. Varric and his leader both snickered, despite the serious discussion.

“Anders! _Fasta vass,_ we just got her to forget that word.” Fenris was scowling at him.

“Oh, and your swear words are better?”

“Most people don’t know the words I use.”

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” came the sing-song chant of a happy toddler.

_“Venhedis!”_

“Venhedith!” Leta proudly lisped. Fenris groaned, and began plying her with food to distract her from her new words.

Varric and the Inquisitor were holding their sides, laughing. Solas was chuckling. This was the best getting-to-know-you meal they’d been to, yet. Even Cole was looking out from under his hat at the child with a charmed expression. He liked happiness, and this little elf seemed chock full of it.

As the meal progressed, and people began mingling, Anders’ folks stopped by their table. Right away, he could see Anders got his looks from his dad, and his personality from his mom. She was friendly, quick-witted, laughing. She’d planted kisses to the tops of both Fenris and Anders’ heads when she passed behind them, leaning in to kiss Leta’s cheek. Her first words to Varric, upon introduction, took him by surprise.

“You’re going to finish Swords and Shields, aren’t you?”

He and the Inquisitor both burst into laughter. This really was the most fun he’d had in a while.

“Actually, I just finished the next chapter. I’ll get another printed up, and send it your way.” He’d never get Cassandra’s copy from her. She was a like a templar with lyrium, when it came to that book.

The Inquisitor had laid his arm across the table for Anders to examine the mark on his hand. For having been elevated from a lesser noble to ruler of the free world’s leading governing institution, the Herald was really a down-to-earth guy. He watched with interest as Anders turned his hand this way and that, prodding, squinting, even smelling the green light that was locked to his palm.

“I can’t sense a thing,” Anders said. “It doesn’t hurt you?”

“Not once the Breach was closed.”

The Herald was looking speculatively at Anders.

“I understand you lost your magic to a failed Rite of Tranquility.”

“That’s right.”

Solas shook his head. “Barbaric custom.”

“Varric says you’re still doing healing. That you’ve managed to build a new life.”

Blondie and Broody exchanged looks, smiling. “That I have.”

“Do you miss your magic?”

“Not like I used to.”

With an almost exaggerated casualness, the Inquisitor asked, “Hypothetically speaking... if there was a way to get your magic back, would you be interested?”

“That’s a rather painful _what if,_ Inquisitor,” Solas said.

Blondie shook his head. “No, it’s alright. I’ve asked myself that same question, many times.”

Varric as curious. “Yeah? What was your answer?”

Leta chose that moment to crawl from Broody’s lap to Blondie’s. Pulling her into his arms, Anders kissed her curly head. “Usually... no.”

“You’re kidding,” Varric said. He really hadn’t expected that.

“Remarkable,” Solas said.

“Not really,” Blondie said. “Losing it nearly killed me, I won’t lie. But, I look at my life, now, and I know I couldn’t have all of this with magic. Until mages are viewed as equal to all people; until they are allowed to live free; until public fear has been quelled... magic would be a liability.”

“Really?” Varric asked. “I gotta say I’m surprised to hear that. You were the proudest and loudest apostate in Thedas.”

Anders laughed, running his fingers through the riot of curls on the drowsy toddler’s head.

“Damn right, I was! I had nothing to lose but my own life; and, I was willing to risk it. Now, I have a child, a partner, a family, a community. Being an apostate now would put all I hold dear in danger.”

“Your father almost died, for your lack of healing magic,” the Herald commented.

“Believe me, I know. Like I said, the answer is _usually_ no. There’s been several times I’ve desperately wanted my magic back... just for one moment. Just for healing.”

“Was it an equitable trade?” Solas asked. “Your magic, for the life you have now?”

Varric felt his own, slightly jaded heart melt a bit as Anders considered his answer. He and Fenris exchanged achingly tender looks. He kissed the sleeping child in his arms. With a gentle smile, he nodded.

“Yes. It was.”

When people began drifting away, and the Herald was talking with Schmidt, Wil, and Glina; and Mina had taken Leta with her to return to the house, just a small group remained at their table; Fenris, Anders, Varric, Solas and Cole. The latter had been quiet during the gathering, though looking pleased with the congeniality around him.

“Were you in the Ferelden Circle?” Anders asked Solas.

“No. I studied outside of the Circles.”

“Among the Dalish?”

“No, further than that.” Solas could be downright mysterious, when he had a mind to.

“Tevinter,” Fenris muttered bitterly.

“Oh, no. Though, I have traveled there.”

_“Anger, fear, biting and slashing, blood on the sacrifice alter, all for power, mages, always mages, when will it end?”_

Anders and Fenris stared at the young man who’d burst forth with a rapid-fire soliloquy. He sat, rocking in his seat coaxing a wooly-bear caterpillar onto his hand.

“Cole feels others’ pain, deeply,” Solas explained. “He means no harm.”

They looked to Varric for confirmation. He nodded. “He’s a good kid. Just knows more than is good for him, sometimes.”

Fenris’ look of discomfort was plain. Anders’ arm moved, and Varric knew he’d placed a hand on the elf’s leg.

Solas was looking at Anders intently. “I understand you had a close relationship with a spirit of justice.”

Varric sat back to watch this conversation. This would be interesting.

“That’s right. He was killed when I received the Tranquil brand.”

Varric cut his eyes to Cole, but the boy was quiet. Apparently, that incident no longer held deep emotion for Anders.

“Yes. I’m sorry for the loss of your friend. Although, from what Varric’s said, it sounds as though he wasn’t able to adjust to the situation. Many spirits have trouble with such joinings.”

“You’re not bothered by what we were?”

“Why should he be?” Fenris muttered.

“Will you stop?” Anders said. “This man saved my father’s life. Don’t be a jackass.”

Fenris scowled, but to Varric’s surprise, he glanced at Solas and murmured, “I apologize.”

The mage shrugged. “No harm done. As Anders pointed-out earlier, many are wary of mages.” He turned back to Blondie. “Do you know what happens when a spirit dies?”

“Well, no. They didn’t seem to know, in the Circle.”

“When a spirit dies, it becomes a wisp, as did your friend, when he died.”

“He’s wisp in the Fade?” Anders sounded relieved to hear that Justice wasn’t completely destroyed.

“No. The spirit you knew died, and became a wisp. But, that wisp is still within you.”

Varric was shocked. Fenris and Anders more so. _“Fasta vass!”_ Fenris was on his feet, pacing beside the table. Anders looked frightened. Terrified, really. Varric couldn’t blame him.

“How do you know this?”

“I have an affinity for the Fade, and the beings that inhabit it. I can sense its presence in you.”

“What does this mean, exactly? That demon is still within him?” Fenris asked, standing behind Anders with his hands on his shoulders. Blondie was leaning back against him, a poignant statement of the support they gave one another.

Solas obviously noted his distress. “No, no... you misunderstand. The spirit you knew has been destroyed, and all its memories and attributes with it. This wisp is a blank slate, with no preconceptions or ideals. It takes a very long time before a wisp matures into a spirit, far longer than a mortal life-span.”

“It won’t make me an abomination?”

“No. That requires a mature spirit. I imagine the wisp will remain quiescent until you die, simply experiencing what you experience. Then, it will release back into the Fade, where it may evolve further.”

 _“Sleeping, listening, drifting. Home, warm, safe. Protect from the corruption, hold back the darkness, stop the calling to the deep....”_ Cole again made his free-style comments, still focused on the fuzzy caterpillar crawling about his hand.

All of them were frowning at the young man in confusion. “Come again, kid?” Varric prompted.

Solas frowned as well. “Ah, yes, you’re a Grey Warden. Cole, do you refer to the taint within him?”

“Yes. The corruption. It holds it in check, to save its home.” He looked up at Anders. “It’s protecting you.”

Anders’ eyes nearly popped from his head. “The blight? My taint? This wisp is holding back the taint’s progression?”

“Apparently so,” Solas said.

Fenris, looking strangely hopeful, his hands digging into Anders’ shoulders, asked a very good question. “Why?”

Solar shrugged. “I cannot really say. It’s likely an instinctive action, to protect itself by protecting its home. I’m curious what this wisp will evolve into, having spent time in the soul of a human. Perhaps it will be like Cole is, now.”

“He’s an abomination?” Fenris asked intensely. All heads turned to the quiet boy, gently petting the hairs on the caterpillar.

“No, Cole has possessed no one. He is a Spirit of Compassion who has taken human form.”

“I don’t kill good people. Just bad. I won’t hurt you, melt you, make you puddles of flesh and bone.”

Varric grunted. Cole could be a bit too straightforward at times. He saw Anders shudder.

“Cole?” Anders asked. “What you said, about it protecting me... the wisp told you this?”

“No. It doesn’t think. It only exists; floating, timeless, pure. It simply is.”

Anders nodded, absently. “Thank you, Cole, Solas. This is....” His face suddenly crumpled with emotion.

The elf sat down again, and pulled him close. Their faces were tucked into each other, and whispers muted as they rocked together. Varric wasn’t sure if they were sad or glad. He exchanged a glance with Solas, who seemed as unsure as he was.

Finally, they pulled apart, and wiped tears from each other’s faces. Smiling. Smiling hugely. Happy, it seemed. Fenris looked at Solas, who met his gaze benignly. Then, wonder of wonders, the broody elf leaned across the table, extended his hand, and gave Solas’ hand a firm shake when the mage offered his in return.

“Thank you,” Fenris said in a rough voice. “It seems Anders will get to see our daughter grow up, after all. Knowing this....”

“It’s a blessing,” Anders finished.

He was damn well glowing, Varric thought to himself. He’d never really thought of it, before. It was just a Grey Warden thing. But, what a thing. Knowing the ending to your story, and knowing it was coming soon. He remembered when his own mother had been dying. Sitting at her bedside, reading his story to her. Not knowing, with each chapter he wrote, if she’d be alive for the next one. The anxiety of uncertainty.

“Damn right it is. Maker’s written all over this,” Varric muttered.

Cole’s voice spoke, again. “They’re happier, now. I’m glad we helped.”

They all chuckled, and pains were left behind.

It was growing later in the day. The Inquisitor, Solas, and Cole had gone back to their camp to pack-up. Varric took the long way around, and rode back with Anders and Fenris, to visit their home before leaving.

“This is damned idyllic,” he said, meaning it. “Where’s the kid?”

“Mutti put her down for her nap. Remember Broody, in a pique? Yeah, that’s our girl without a nap.”

They sat on the platform Fenris had built onto the water tower, looking out over the land. Varric had told them of his exploits alongside the Inquisitor. About his companions at Skyhold.

“A Qunari? And, a Tevinter magister?” Fenris seemed non-plussed.

“He’s not a magister, he makes a point of that. He’s an Altus.”

“Close enough,” the elf scoffed. “You watch him, Varric. He sounds like bad news.”

“Sparkler? Nah. He’s alright.”

“It sounds like there’s a good crew, there,” Anders said.

“This is nice. I miss that balcony of yours,” Varric said, taking in the view. Classic farmland, cozy cottage, swing on the porch, horses in the paddock, crops golden in the fields.

“This is home.” Anders said.

Varric looked at Fenris, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the platform, utterly relaxed. “So, farm life works for you, huh?”

“It does.”

“Don’t miss the excitement of battle? The thrill of the city life?”

“I do not.”

“They could use you, in the Inquisition.”

“No.” It wasn’t the ‘no’ he’d come to know from the broody elf. It was calm, friendly, even. In fact, there wasn’t much broody about the elf, anymore.

“Damn, Broody. You really are happy, aren’t you?”

“More than I ever knew was possible. More so, after today.”

Anders nodded. “The Maker is working through you, Varric. You brought Solas here, to save my father, and tell us of the wisp.”

Varric felt a flush of warmth at the words. He was glad to be able to help his friends. He didn’t know if the Maker worked through him, or not, but it was nice to think He might. “I don’t know about that. I just do what I do.”

“That’s when He does His best work,” Fenris said.

They sat in silence a while, listening to the beetles buzz and breeze blow.

“You two have a good thing going, here. I’m happy for you.”

“It’s good to see you, again, Varric.”

“It’s mutual, Blondie. It’s mutual.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a few refinements and additions to this chapter. I wanted to get across a little more of what I think meeting the Inquisitor may have been like for Anders... and for the Inquisitor. 
> 
> Quizzy learns the Rite of Tranquility can be reversed. He was feeling out Anders about it. But, the way the story's written, I'm not sure a reversal would work for Anders, even if he wanted it. Justice's presence altered the way Tranquility normally works.
> 
> And, yes. Anders is happy. Healing magic aside (and, yeah, that's a big aside), he knows more than anyone the dangers apostates face in most of Thedas. He does not want to expose all he holds dear to those dangers. 
> 
> About the wisp, and the taint; in an interview, David Gaider said that Justice could play one of two roles regarding the taint in Anders:  
> 1) The taint would infect Justice.  
> 2) Justice would hold back the taint, making the Calling a non-issue.  
> I went with door Number 2, obviously. ;-)


	38. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting for things to happen, or not.
> 
> Anders has a little rough patch with sex stuff, in a couple ways.

_“Harder.”_

“I fuck you any harder, I’m gonna break you.”

“Break me, then. _Harder.”_

Anders tightened his grip on the elf, and pounded into him. Fenris’ back was against the wall of their bedroom, and now he slammed into it. He could feel the elf’s knees gripping his ribs, his arms tight around his neck.

They had been going at it, soft, hard, fast, slow, for Maker knew how long. Oh, blissful, wonderful, celebration. A celebration of nothing more than life, itself. A life Anders could no longer count-down. A life they could plan, and hope, and share. This wasn’t the only such celebration. They’d had several in the past month or so, and each had been as unique and joyful as this one.

He loved this position, Fenris was reliant on his strength to hold him up. He loved to be the support for his elf. He marshaled his stamina, and continued his attack.

 _“Nnnnghhhh..._ Anders, I’m close....” Fenris’ voice was shaky with need.

“Hands and knees, now,” he gasped, swinging the elf to the bed.

“Oh, Maker... let me come....”

“Not yet, love... turn over.” With shaking limbs, Fenris repositioned himself on hands and knees. Anders climbed behind him, his own body shaking, and slid slowly back into heaven.

Fenris called out, arching his back to put his pelvis in the position that best pleased him. With one hand on the elf’s hip, and the other on his shoulder, Anders began moving. So good. So deep. So fucking perfect. His hands gripped the elf tightly, pulling him back against his thrusts.

“Anders... yes... _hard..._ break me apart, I don’t care....” Fenris’ body gripped him in his tight, slick sheath, hips undulating with Anders’ rhythm.

“Be careful what you wish for, elf....” he warned him, and unleashed himself. Fenris’ voice rang out, wordless, harsh. Anders’ hands moved him as he needed, cock hammering into him. Sweet Maker, _so good._ He found the elf’s prostate, and listened to the cries become desperate. He was climbing that same peak, body shivering with the intensity of it. “Is this what you want?” he asked, voice raw.

“... yes... yes... _unnggghhhh....”_ Maker, he was beautiful. So, so, passionate. How had he been so lucky to have this elf for his mate? He wanted to come. He wanted to fill this man, to feel him fall apart around him. “Coming... Anders....”

He pulled out.

 _“Venhedis!_ Don’t make me beg....” he sounded truly desperate, now.

“Turn over,” he whispered. As he watched Fenris struggle to turn on his back, he saw his cock, dusky, swollen, leaking a steady stream of precome. Oh, he was close. The elf’s face was a mask of want, his skin damp with sweat.

“Anders, please,” he moaned.

“Shhh... you don’t need to beg, love. Never from me. You’re going to come.” He pulled the elf’s shaking legs around his waist, and again slid into the tight, welcoming sheath. Fenris shuddered as he entered him, a whine escaping him. With a slow exit, and a hard thrust, he began, again. Fenris cried out as his sweet spot was stroked.

“You’re going to come so hard,” he whispered, “you’re going to see the Maker.” Thrust. “You’re going to forget your own name.” Thrust. “You’re not going to walk right for a week.”

Fenris was moaning, his body still shuddering. With no hesitation, he gave himself over to his mate. Anders always tried to make it worth his trust.

He gathered his waning control, and ruthlessly turned Fenris into a quaking, crying, mess. His head rolled on the mattress, sobbing with pleasure. He couldn’t form words, anymore. His hands gripped Anders’ shoulders, nails biting into his skin. Anders kept thrusting, hard, deep, fast. He panted, both with the effort, and with the pleasure catching up with him. His balls pulled tight, he was going to explode.

He could see Fenris’ signs of approaching climax; breath shallow, cries choked-off, neck arching back. He felt the elf’s nails digging into him, making him hiss with both pain and pleasure as he began to climb the final peak.

Fenris convulsed, and loosed a harsh cry, his body in a rictus of extreme pleasure. His inner muscles clamped around his cock, and Anders exploded. He was blinded with sensation, emptying himself into the elf, balls cramping, toes curling as he rode the bliss.

When he was able to make sense of the world around him, he saw Fenris had gone limp; passed-out. He smiled, and carefully, with shaking limbs, gathered him in his arms. Oh, he loved it when this happened, when he took Fenris to such a high that he literally couldn’t breathe. He loved holding him as he waited for him to come around, again. He loved how he woke, so sweet, and pliant, and content. He loved him, period.

When the elf stirred, he pressed a kiss to his lips. “Well... did you see the Maker while you were gone?” he asked softly. Fenris nuzzled him, arms weakly holding him.

“Mmmm... Did I please you?”

Anders chuckled, and carded his fingers through the sweaty, white hair. “More than you’ll ever know. You’re incredible, Fenris.”

“No, that’s you.”

Life had gone on much as before, after the Inquisition left. A small group of Inquisition agents had been left behind to keep tabs on the area. They were men, which made the over-represented women of the community very pleased.

They’d held a funeral for the Villager who’d died. The wounded had been healed by Solas, who was generous with his magical power. Fenris had shook his head when Anders later went on about the mage’s willingness to heal even those with minor injuries.

“You did the same thing, if you recall. You healed every stubbed toe in Darktown.”

“A stubbed toe in Darktown could lead to an amputation. It was filthy in the sewers.”

“You’d have done it, anyway. He was... alright. For a mage.”

“Damn. For you, that’s high praise.”

“He gave me the best news I’ve ever received.”

They decided not to tell anyone else of the wisp that was Anders’ passenger. His folks didn’t know of the Calling, anyway. Hearing about that, and then following it up with, “by the way, I’ve got an infant spirit inside me, keeping the taint at bay,” was not something either Mina nor Wil would be overjoyed to learn.

Anders found that a certain bittersweet quality to his relationship with his daughter was gone, now. He might well live to see her grandchildren. At least, he had as much a chance as anyone else. Life was uncertain. But, now, he shared the same uncertainty as the rest of mankind.

His father had adapted remarkably well to losing an eye. As he’d said, an eye instead of his life, was a fair trade. Farming life was hard, even when it was easy. Most households in Ratspitz, or any village, for that matter, had a missing finger, toe, arm or leg. Even with magic, an amputation couldn’t be reattached. Mina thought Wil looked wonderfully rakish with his eyepatch. She’d been terrified to learn of the extent of his injuries, and how close he’d come to death. She’d showered Solas with gratitude, until he blushed, and made an escape. Obviously a man who was unused to feminine thanks. Varric had laughed heartily at the mage’s retreat. Wil’s new scars brought him an almost awed reverence from fellow villagers. He’d been attacked by a demon, and lived.

“Most of the people fighting have scars from taking hits from demons,” Wil grumbled. “A man died from it.”

“Every war has a figurehead, Vati. You’re it.”

“Because I didn’t have the sense to get out of the way?”

“Yep. Fenris dodged every swing and swipe, and didn’t stop fighting the whole time. No one’s worshipping him. That’s just how it goes.”

“Ridiculous.”

“I don’t want to be worshipped,” Fenris said. “You can have it, Wil.”

“I’ll worship you, love,” Anders had said. “At the altar of your body.”

“Maker’s breath, Erich,” said Wil. “And, you complain about your mother.”

It had only taken a few weeks for a package to show up addressed to “Blondie’s Mom.” It was the most recent chapter of Varric’s romance serial, as the dwarf had promised. She disappeared to Schmidt’s farm each afternoon, to read it aloud to Lera and a dozen other women who gathered. Schmidt said the cottage sounded like a roomful of broody hens, with all the clucking and squawking going on. He spent the afternoons outside, until the book reading was finished.

By the time Harvestmere rolled around, life was running much as it always had. The watch stands were maintained, since Varric reported that “weird shit” was still afoot in southern Thedas. Otherwise, crops were brought in, gardens harvested, children raised. Leta was picking up words at an astonishing rate. There were times the four adults couldn’t figure out where she’d heard something she’d said. No one remembered saying the word “stupendous.” Yet, she’d exclaimed it clearly when she’d been given a cookie after dinner one night.

This year’s Satinalia was particularly joyful. Wil wore Mina’s phallic mask, which people seemed to think wonderfully funny. Mina wore not only a mask, but a full costume based on the Guard Captain from Swords and Shields. Those who had followed the serial were all agog, and the dance was full of plans by fans of the story to have groups of people dress-up as characters from the book next year.

“Look what you started, Mutti,” Anders said, grinning. “There’s a whole new movement afoot.” It was their year to be sober, and he was delighted. Leta was discovering the joy of moving to the music. Sitting with his mother, watching her little body bounce and stomp and wiggle was the greatest fun he remembered having. Lera’s youngster was close to the same age, and two cavorted happily on the edge of the dance area, watched by many indulgent adults.

Mina laughed. “We need more men to dress the male parts.”

“Don’t look at me. I’m already in a book.”

“Oh, right, Tale of the Champion,” Lera said. Anders’ eyes went wide. Who had loaned out that damned book? The family had agreed to not share it. “Varric mailed a copy to Schmidt,” she explained. “This one’s almost as good as Hard in Hightown. But, it’s not really as believable. I mean, you, an abomination? Obviously, you’re not. And, all those unlikely people Hawke meets? But, it’s fun to read, even so.”

A slow grin spread over Anders’ face. _Obviously,_ he wasn’t an abomination. “Well, I tell you what. You guys decide to dress up like that book, I’ll join in. Fenris, too. Mutti, you’d make a wonderful Isabela.”

Mina and Lera squealed, and put their heads together. He waved at Leta, who jumped up and down, grinning, flapping her hand in return.

Fenris and Wil weren’t nearly as drunk as he’d expected them to be. They said they were just happy enough, as it was. It didn’t stop Fenris from dragging Anders into their bedroom after the dance, and pinning him down for some good, old, enthusiastic frotting.

They were wrapped around each other, humping furiously, the friction so sweet, when suddenly, a chirpy little voice at bedside called “Daddy!”

Fenris flew off of him, his knee ramming Anders’ groin as he scrambled away. Anders went from pleasure to breathtaking, exquisite pain in an instant. Curling onto his side, hands cupped over his throbbing balls, he was unable to make even a sound. The blankets were hurriedly thrown over them as Leta tried to pull herself up onto the bed.

“Baby, how did you get out of your crib?” Fenris asked, picking her up.

“You playing with Papa?”

“Yes, we were... wrestling.”

“I play too?”

“It’s not your playtime, baby. It’s your bedtime. Let’s put you back in your crib. Can you go to your room and wait for me?”

“Yes....” Anders heard her scrambling down. Then, little footsteps padded to his side of the bed. “Night-night, Papa.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he squeaked. Her little feet trotted out of the room, and Fenris followed, pulling on his pants.

By the time Fenris was back in the room, he could breathe, again. The elf slid under the blankets, and whispered, “Where were we?”

“In agony, that’s where. Will you get me a pain potion?” He wasn’t moving, for anything, or anyone.

“What’s wrong?”

“My balls feel like they’ve been stomped on by an ogre.”

“I did that? I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”

The potion helped, but he had no intention of moving.

“How’d she get out of her crib?” He asked, still cupping himself.

“Climbed, apparently.” Anders didn’t miss the pride in his voice. “She fell asleep pretty quick once she was back in it. I think she was just wound up from the dance. You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah. Just stay clear for the night. You have phenomenal aim.”

“Well, I was trained to maim.”

Anders snorted. “And, you’re an excellent student.”

Mina and Wil both chuckled at hearing Leta had escaped her bed. “Sweetheart, you were always getting out of that crib. Why do you think the doorknob’s so high on the door? We finally had to let you have run of your room at night, to keep you from destroying the house, or getting out the front door.”

“So, your history of escapes didn’t begin in the Circle,” Fenris said.

“We should just start closing her door at night. I’d hate to find her running loose in the barnyard some morning,” Wil said.

Though Anders’ groin felt a thousand times better, he was still gingerly in his movements.

“You’re still sore?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not getting on a horse or wagon for a bit, though.”

“Or, on me.” Fenris looked absolutely woe-begone. Anders chuckled.

“My mouth’s not broken, love.” He laughed again when the elf immediately brightened.

When they returned to the house for lunch, Mina wasn’t working in the kitchen area, as usual. Leta was in her playpen, happily chattering at her dolls. Fenris moved toward her as Anders walked toward their room.

Suddenly, Anders threw himself backward, and flattened himself against the wall next to their apartment door. Out of habit, Fenris followed, pulling his quarter-staff from his back.

“What is it?” the elf hissed.

Anders did a double-take of the staff in Fenris’ hands, and motioned him to put it away. In a similar hiss, he replied with horror.

“Mutti.... She’s looking at the Naughtycal book!”

Fenris gave him a scathing look. “Seriously? For that, you act like a bear’s in our room? I don’t believe you.” He picked up Leta, and walked into their apartment. Anders stayed where he was, and listened to their voices from outside the door.

“Mina, is lunch ready, or do we just forage through the pantry?”

Anders heard his mother squeal with surprise. “You startled me, sweetheart! There’s an egg pie in the oven. Where did you get this book? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Isabela gave it to me as a going away gift. Just so you know, Anders is hiding outside the room, having a heart attack.”

“Of course, he is. May I borrow this?”

“Help yourself. Page fifty-three is interesting.”

“Oh... this one. How do they even do that?”

“No idea. I’m not trying it.”

Anders was about to die. “That’s enough, you two! For Andraste’s sake... I can’t believe you’re discussing that with your mother-in-law.”

They came out of the room, Fenris with the baby, and Mina with the book. “And, in front of my daughter!” he exclaimed, taking Leta from Fenris.

“She doesn’t know what we’re talking about, Anders.” He could see the amused glint in Fenris’ eyes, and knew the elf was deliberately goading him. “And, she’s my daughter, too.”

“Not when you’re discussing your favorite sex position with my mother.”

“Not his favorite, sweetheart. His least likely.”

“You’re unbelievable!” He cuddled Leta against him, and headed for the front door. Neither of them had any shame. He nearly bowled over his father on his way in.

“Whoa, son, what’s your hurry?”

“My mother is a deviant.”

“Wife, what’s upset our son, this time?”

“I found this book under their bed while cleaning.” She handed it to Wil, who furrowed his brow reading the title.

“Jackstaffs and Limberholes? Well, what’s so... oh... oh, my.” He flipped through the pages. “This is unexpected.”

Anders smirked. “See?”

Wil seemed as transfixed as any of them had been on their first viewing of the pages. “I do see. But, it’s your book. How does that make your mother the deviant?”

Anders sputtered, with no answer in reach. He spun on his heel, and headed out the door.

Fenris found him, later, sitting on the porch swing, with Leta carefully perched on his knee. He carried a plate of egg pie, which he traded him for the child.

“Why does it still bother you so much to talk about sex around your parents?”

“They’re my parents. It’s just... when they talk about it in front of me, it’s like they walked in on me masturbating, or something.” He dug into the food.

Fenris snorted.

“Papa, I have some?”

Anders gave her a bite. “Did they keep the book?”

“Mm-hm. They’re locked in their room with it.”

It was Anders’ turn to snort. “Well, I suppose I should just be happy they have such a good marriage.”

“Like us.”

Anders smiled at the elf. “Yes. Like us.”

“I have some more?”

He gave Leta another bite of pie, grinning at his daughter. “Thank goodness, you’re too young to care about sex.”

“Sex for big people.”

They both stared at the child in surprise.

“Who told you that?” he asked, knowing full-well the answer.

“Grammy. I have some more?”

They forgot about the book until a couple weeks later, when Schmidt returned it to them.

“That’s a good read, _junge._ Any more like it?”

Anders sighed. He hadn’t been aware Schmidt had it. “Nope. Just the one.”

“Shame,” Schmidt said. “You try page fifty-three?”

“Um... no. That just looks painful. Or, fatal.”

 _“Ja?_ You might be surprised.” And, with a wink, he was on his way.

Fenris looked at him with wide eyes. “You don’t think he managed...?”

“He did,” came Mina’s voice from behind them.

“Andraste’s tits, did he actually tell you that?” Anders asked.

“Of course not, sweetheart. A gentleman doesn’t talk about what he does with his wife in bed.”

“Then, how do you know?”

“His wife told me.”

Fenris barked a laugh.

“When did you tell Leta that sex was for grownups?” Anders asked.

Mina looked surprised. “That was over a month ago. She walked in on Wil and I in during a very heated moment. She asked what we were doing.”

“So, you told her?”

“Well, you walked in on us, about the same age. You startled me so, that I screeched, and scared the daylights out of you. I think that’s why you’re so skittish about sex. I didn’t want the same thing to happen to Leta.”

Fenris was chuckling. “That does explain a great deal.”

Anders started to protest, yet, he decided that maybe it was best just left alone. Perhaps that was why he was so nervous on the topic around his parents. As long as he wasn’t nervous about it around Fenris, it didn’t really matter.

“Thanks for handling it as nicely as you did,” he said.

“Oh course, sweetheart.”

Winter passed with its usual snow and celebrations. Anders delivered two babies into the world, and an elderly man out of it. He suggested that Mina start the Naughtycal book on rotation through the Village, as any other book. If their household, and Schmidt’s, had gotten so much enjoyment out of it, he thought it only beneficial for the rest of the community. Sharing of books had become something of a tradition in the Village, now.

Lera’s daughter, and Leta, had begun to seek each other out at gatherings. It was a sweet prelude to the children, and adults, they would later become. Anders loved imagining what they would be like as they grew, because he would likely be there to see it. His daughter brought indescribable joy to his life. She was talking so well, saying what she wanted, what she thought of activities, and people, and animals, and toys. She and Fenris would hold long, rambling conversations; jumping from subject to subject, with no goal in mind. For a man who once thought the entire world talked entirely too much, the elf had no qualms about engaging in nonsense chatter with his daughter.

Fenris had also begun wrestling with Leta. Little, play-struggles, that involved a lot of tickling, but also had elements of the sport. It was easy to see how this would progress, over time. Fenris, the physical being that he was, would teach her to wrestle, fight, use a staff, perhaps a sword. He was already putting her on Patience, getting her accustomed to horseback riding.

Anders would sit with her and read stories. There were few children’s books in the village, so he wrote some, himself. Mina, a decent artist, drew pictures to illustrate them. He wrote about magic and mages; about Dalish elves; about some of his escapades while young and running from the Circle. He wrote a fantastic tale about a young elf escaping slavery, and finding a home and family. Fenris would sit and listen to the tales as eagerly as Leta.

“I like the stories you write. You take things that really happened, and make them innocent. The slave boy who finds a family... Anders, that’s me. I wish it had happened that way.”

“That is how it happened, love. Just, a little later.”

During the slow winter days, Anders and Mina made copies of these little stories, and shared them with mothers of other young children. More books, more stories, to ignite the imagination during the cold, dark season.

First Day was a joyous time. Ever since the rift, the tight-knit community was even tighter. Those who had spent time and spilled blood fighting the demons were particularly close. Fenris was respected beyond what he’d already been. The Village may have chosen Wil as their hero of the fight, but those who’d fought beside the elf knew who’d kept most of them alive and bolstered through it all. It was a quiet sort of understanding, that Fenris was able to appreciate.

“Guardian 9:42

“Dear Varric,

“We hope this Wintersend finds you, and your Inquisition companions, well.

“The village still tells the stories of your arrival, and the closing of the rift. Even Leta remembers you, ‘Varric-Daddy’s-friend’. Her family remembers Varric-Daddy’s-Friend, too. We’ve become authors of a sort, ourselves. With so few books for children, Mutti and I have begun writing little tales of our own. None with your skill and aplomb, of course, but they entertain the local toddlers. And, Fenris.

“There’s three new babies since your group came to the village, that have been named after the Inquisitor. If he doesn’t know yet that he’s a hero, you might want to tell him. His going to meet a lot of kids with the names Maxwell and Trevelyan, in years to come.

“We say prayers for the defeat of our common enemy, and for the welfare of those battling him. And, especially for you.

“If you ever have time and inclination, come by for a visit. We’d love to see you, again.

“Maker be with you, Varric.

“Anders.”

On a sunny day in Drakonis, the village was upset by a sudden, and frightful, change in the Breach. With an ominous clash and rumble, the scar in the skies flashed, and spewed green light. It looked as it had in the beginning, before the Inquisition had healed it.

“This doesn’t look good,” Anders muttered.

“This looks decidedly bad,” Wil replied.

The twisting, roiling, evil-looking tear in the sky remained for a day, or so. The village, aware that there was likely a battle going on, somewhere, between the evil that had caused it, and the people who had saved their own village, kept vigil.

Fenris and Anders sat on the cottage roof, with Mina and Wil, Leta carefully carried up and held close, so that all could be together as they watched and waited. It wasn’t just their village that was at stake, they knew. This was a battle for all mankind, everywhere.

Finally, with a sudden and terrifying explosion, violent enough to be heard in the village, the Breach sucked in on itself, and was sealed, again. A mark remained, as before, but even less apparent. A green-tinged scar upon the heavens, a benign reminder of what had been there. Anders was certain it was the end, that Corypheus had been defeated.

This was confirmed by a letter only a few days later.

“Blondie,

“It’s over.

“Varric.”

The cryptic note, brief as it was, was enough to spark an impromptu celebration in the village. People sang, prayed, played music, danced. Anders danced with everyone; Fenris, his mother, Leta, even his father. Schmidt got drunk, and he danced with him, too, and then his wife, Lera, heavily pregnant with child number four.

As he pulled Fenris into his arms for another slow, hug-and-shuffle sort of a dance, the elf smirked at him.

“You haven’t even had a drink, have you?”

“Nope.”

“All this energy, just from sheer happiness?”

“Yep.”

“Your little passenger doesn’t have anything to do with this mania, does it?”

Anders laughed. “I can’t even feel that dust-speck in my soul. It doesn’t take a spirit possession to make me excitable.”

“That’s true... how excitable are you, might I ask?”

“Enough to climb on the roof of the gathering hall, and shag you senseless before the entire village.”

Fenris grinned. “Maybe the water tower at home will suffice.”

“I’m sure it will.”

And, it did. It was chilly, even with the armload of blankets they dragged up the tower. But, they managed to keep warm. The stars in the clear, cold sky were the only witnesses to their celebratory shag, which did, indeed, leave them both senseless. At least, momentarily.

There was plenty to celebrate, and reason to take leave of their senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot of sex-stuff this chapter: Coitus interruptus, kick in the nads, dirty book, toddlers knowing about sex, Schmidt does page 53, sex on the water tower... dang!
> 
> (There's one more chapter, to go).


	39. The Storyteller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric finds something during a long visit at the farm.
> 
> How life goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter.

Fenris liked spring. The bursting forth of life, the start of the farming cycle. Spring seemed to be a time of arrival; babies on the farm, flowers in the field. It had also been the time of Anders’ and Fenris’ arrival from Kirkwall. Five years ago, Fenris had accompanied his friend and lover on his quest to find his parents, again.

Five years. He had a hard time believing so much time had passed. It had been only a half year longer since he and Anders had been thrust into a partnership based on necessity. He’d been so confused and lost, then; nearly as much as Anders had been. Looking back now, it was easy to follow the path the Maker had laid out for them. But, at the time, it had all been muddled.

He looked past the cottage, at Anders working in the new herb garden he’d put in this year. Herbs for teas, medicines, cooking spices. Leta was with him, carefully following his example to dig little holes for the seeds to go into. She’d work diligently for a short time, then scamper off to follow Fenris, or Grampy, or Grammy. He smiled at the concentration he imagined on her face, right now. How he adored her. She was like the sun that rose in the morning sky; her brightness drowning the starlight, and dimming the moon.

Anders caught him watching them, and said something to Leta. She stood on her little legs, and waved furiously at him. He smiled, and waved back. His rumination was interrupted by Dozy, who’d decided that training must be over, and was now looking for the treats Fenris carried in his pocket. He patted the young stallion, and picked-up where they’d left off. He’d let Leta treat him. She loved the horses.

A figure was coming up the road toward the farm. At this distance, he could see a pack on it’s back, and that it was short. He thought it might be Schmidt’s youngest boy, now eight, coming to deliver something. He whistled to get Anders’ attention, and saw him stand and walk toward him with Leta holding his hand.

“A copper says it’s Schmidt’s boy.”

Anders squinted. “Nah. Too husky. A tin peddler.”

“You’re on.”

As the figure drew closer, Leta shouted, “Varric-Daddy’s-friend!”

“We owe her a copper, each,” Anders said, jogging forward to meet the dwarf. Fenris jumped the paddock fence and followed, Leta on his hip.

The Inquisition had done its declared duty, and was remaining intact to ensure continued stability in southern Thedas. Varric had done his part to save the world, and it was time to get back to what was nearest and dearest to his heart.

“Kirkwall is still trying to overcome the battle at the Gallows, and the Mage-Templar War. Shithole or no, it’s my home, and I’m going to help.”

Anders and Fenris shared a knowing look. “Varric, you don’t have to tell us what home means. We get it.”

They were up on the water tower, watching the sun set, while Fenris softly strummed the lute. Varric had been at the farm for several weeks, now. After catching a ride from Skyhold on a supply wagon, he’d had gotten off at the road to Ratspitz, and walked to the farm. He’d wondered if their oft repeated invitation to come and visit for a while was still standing. Of course it was. Anders’ childhood bed was brought out of storage, again, and set up in the men’s living area. He was as friendly as ever, but spent a fair amount of time alone. They went about their work on the farm and in the house, and he joined, occasionally. But, for the most part, when they were busy, he was... thinking.

Fenris and Anders found it telling that Varric had chosen their home as his site of personal restoration. For, that’s what it seemed to be. He could have gone straight back to the Free Marches. He could have stopped by for a couple days of visiting before moving on to Kirkwall. As it was, he’d left Skyhold as soon as he’d managed to wrap-up business there. Many of his companions had left, or were taking different duties. He could have stayed, but the Inquisition didn’t need his help. Kirkwall, on the other hand, was still fighting to stay afloat. It didn’t even have a new Viscount, as yet.

Even with his heart in Kirkwall, he’d stayed on the farm with his friends, and their family. He spent most of his alone time on the porch swing, or up on the water tower. Sometimes, he walked the dirt roads around the farms, or went off into the orchards or fields. This was the dwarf who hated the country, wandering in the dirt and grass of the farmlands.

“It’s quiet here,” he said. “The quiet feels good, after all that chaos. I’ve been in battles of all kinds, over the years. But, I tell you, the stuff I’ve been up against with the Inquisition; the atrocities those Red Templars and Venatori committed....” He sighed, and an uncharacteristically sorrowful expression settled on his face for a moment. He shook himself. “All I gotta say is, that shit was weird.” He took a slug of his mead.

Fenris suspected that the dwarf had much more to say than that. But, he also knew that sometimes the words don’t come; and when they do, saying them out loud makes it that much more real. He nodded, and continued playing the lute.

The platform on the tower had grown over the years since he’d first started on it. It now had railings around it, mostly in anticipation of Leta eventually trying to get up there on her own. The bottom of the ladder up was well out of her reach, but she was a true escape artist in the house; every precaution was worthwhile. There were crates and rough chairs on it, and usually a barrel of mead that they’d hoisted up with a rope. Mina and Wil were as likely to be up there on any given evening as Anders and Fenris. The view was lovely, and in the summer, the breeze cool.

He was a welcome guest. As was always the case with Varric, everyone liked him. He was always an excellent conversationalist, and he and Mina entertained one another splendidly. He spent a surprising amount of time with Leta. He could keep her spellbound with fairytales and nursery rhymes for hours. He truly seemed to enjoy her.

“Kids, little kids, they’re golden,” he said. “No angles, no agendas. They are what they are.”

“Yet, no heirs in the future for House Tethras?” Anders asked.

“Nah. I wouldn’t know what to do, or how to do it. Marriage isn’t in my cards, and a crossbow can’t raise a child. I’ll get my kid-fix with Little Bit, here.”

“You should write some kids’ fairy tales. There’s not enough children’s books out there.”

“I write real-life stories, Blondie. I’m not much on making shit up.”

“Oh, come on. You know full well you augmented some of what you wrote.”

“I may, or may not, have taken some license with details. But, I don’t have to make it up for people to want to read it. People like my stories, because they’re different from what they already know. Everyone wants to escape their real life, and explore someone else’s, now and then. Lemme ask you, how many times have you read Champion of Kirkwall?”

“Just the once.”

“Exactly. You don’t need to read about what you’ve already lived.”

“Those fairy tales you told her were pretty good,” Fenris said.

“Yeah... I’m not the one who made those up. Those are stories my mom told me, when I was a kid. I just mixed-up the races and places to lose the heavy Orzammar overtone. Even I got tired of that, when I was a kid.”

Varric and Schmidt seemed to have an affinity. When the two families got together, they often spent time in conversation. They had a couple archery matches, and quite a few story-telling competitions. They were strangely alike in bearing and humor. Schmidt even seemed to understand Varric’s relationship with his crossbow.

Schmidt and Wil finally met their match in Wicked Grace during these get-togethers. Schmidt’s thirteen year old son would join for a few hands, and get some of the best instruction the village had ever seen. After he’d had a chance to play, the men settled in for a serious bout of gambling. Varric seemed to truly enjoy these home-spun evenings; conversation, music, cards. Simple pleasures that he said should never be taken for granted. Fenris agreed.

It was in the night, the reason for Varric’s desire to stay-on became clear. Several times, Anders and Fenris had been awakened by Varric's nighttime wanderings. Something was haunting his thoughts enough to keep him from sleep. And, not only from sleep. Varric was a man who told stories, yet he hesitated many times during his recounting of his adventures with the Inquisitor.

He’d gone into the Fade... _physically into the Fade..._ and Anders had been intensely interested in what that had been like. Varric told the tale, and told it well, but the final battle... Fenris guessed it was a battle, but couldn’t be sure... Varric skimmed past it. Whatever they fought, he wouldn’t describe. The Grey Warden, Stroud, had been left behind, and the grief in the dwarf’s eyes at the telling was unexpected.

When he spoke of finding Venatori or Red Templar encampments, he stinted on details, which was unlike Varric. “It was bad,” was the most he’d relate.

“What do you think?” Fenris quietly asked Anders in bed one night. “Varric going to be alright?”

“I think so. I hope so. I’ve never seen him like this... well, maybe after he had to kill his brother. He’s talked about feeling responsible for the red lyrium being brought to the surface. And, look at what Corypheus did with it, what it did to the templars.

“And, you’ve seen him try to talk about some of the battles they were in, atrocities they witnessed. I think he’s trying to deal with everything he’s learned and seen. Like he said, that was some weird shit.”

Fenris nodded. “You’re probably right. I’m glad he came here. If he has something to work through, he should be with friends. Kirkwall doesn’t exactly give a man a chance to deal with his inner demons.”

“Are you referring to me?”

“You tell me.”

“Justice wasn’t a demon, you bratty elf.”

“Bratty?” Fenris was chuckling.

“Yes. Bratty. And, sexy. C’mere, sexy brat.”

He let himself be drawn into the arms of his mate, and eagerly returned his kiss. As Anders slid down his body to take him in his mouth, and skillfully bring him to a panting, shuddering climax, Fenris sent thanks to the Maker. He was grateful beyond description, that he and Anders had both been able to overcome most of their demons.

Varric was still on the farm for Summerday. He enjoyed the simple gathering, and the singing of the Chant. He spent a lot of time with Wil and Schmidt, eventually wondering off with them for Maker-knew-what. Anders and Fenris agreed there were no better men for the dwarf to spend time with, and were content to be left out of whatever manly activities were surely afoot.

It was morning before they found the men. All three were up the water tower, as awake and sober as Chantry sisters. When Schmidt headed home, he and Varric shared a solid embrace. Afterward, Varric went to bed, and slept clear through until the next morning.

“What did you two do to him, Vati?”

Wil looked confused. “To whom?”

“Varric.”

Wil shrugged. “Just... listened.” Fenris nodded. He suspected as much. Varric could talk, he was a storyteller. But, for what had lingered in his heart, he’d needed the right audience.

Over the next few days, the dwarf began talking of the future. Mostly of Kirkwall. Things that needed to be done. Things the noble houses in the city needed to understand. He talked about things he’d learned from the Inquisition’s ambassador, Josephine. He could put some of the knowledge he’d gained to work in rebuilding his beloved city.

When he was ready to continue his journey to Kirkwall, Fenris and Anders had been ready to offer to take him, themselves. It was a long walk, especially for a man as city-bred as Varric. But, someone had beat them to the offer.

“Schmidt’s giving me a lift to West Hill,” he’d said. “He’s a good guy, with a story just begging to be written. My luck, he doesn’t want it told.”

Saying goodbye to Varric when he left was a lot like saying hello. Because, they could see that the Varric they had grown to know and love was shining through the Varric that had come seeking refuge on the farm.

“People come to this farm to heal,” Fenris said over supper. “It’s a good place.”

The rest of the family nodded. He spoke truth. It was a good, healing place.

Fenris didn’t know if Wil had healed the last of his distrust of mages, or not. But, when discussion in the cottage turned to the future of all those mages now outside Circles, Anders’ father didn’t make his usual comments regarding magic and those who used it. Perhaps his nearly fatal injuries had reworked some of his beliefs. Or, perhaps he’d simply decided to honor the magic that had healed him, and been instrumental in defeating Corypheus. Either way, he now maintained a neutral bearing in discussion of mages and magic. If Anders noticed, and Fenris couldn’t imagine he hadn’t, he chose not to mention it. It seemed father and son had found a way to go on in a mutually respectful manner.

Leta turned three on a warm, beautiful day, with fluffy clouds in a blue sky. Anders commented that she was looking less like a baby, and more like a person. Fenris saw what he meant. She had long legs, and possessed the elven grace human youngsters just didn’t have. She listened intently to instruction that she was given; but, whether or not she followed that instruction seemed to be at her own whim. She was healthy, and happy, and against all odds--given the uncoordinated efforts of her two fathers--potty-trained.

“You know, it was really Mutti who did that.”

“I just didn’t think about it,” Fenris admitted.

“Well, I have no excuse. As a healer, I should have been more attuned. Maybe that’s just something wives are better at?”

“I dare you to say that at one of Mina’s group readings.”

“No, no. That’s just a personal observation that no one ever needs to hear.”

Whoever was responsible, the little elven girl had shucked her diapers, and was on her way to growing up.

“Papa, read me dis.”

“Read me this, what?”

“Read me dis, now.”

Fenris snorted. “That’s my girl.”

Anders shot him a look. “Read me this, please, Leta.”

“No, Papa. _You_ read it.”

Mina laughed. “And, that’s _your_ girl, Erich.”

Fenris loved to watch Anders read to her. Sitting on his lap, book on her lap, reading aloud as his finger moved along under the words. Her long, curling, black hair tucked behind her pointed ears; her enormous blue eyes following his finger, eagerly examining the pictures. It always reminded him of when Anders had first taught him to read; in his old mansion, sitting at the table, the world opening up for the elf. So long ago, so many changes.

All Soul’s Day arrived. People were a bit apprehensive; it was on this day, last year, that the rift had appeared outside the village. Only a year ago? It seemed so much longer. Wil explained what All Soul’s Day was, to the little girl. Leta knew, now, that her parents had died on the day she was born. She didn’t know the details, that wasn’t important, at this point. But, she had asked why she didn’t have a mother, and the story just flowed organically as they told her.

Fenris wasn’t sure what she thought of death, if she knew what it was. He wasn’t sure if she understood how she’d had other parents. She seemed to understand that a mother and father were gone, and were never coming back. Her delicate brow had furrowed, as she listened to what was said. Then, she asked a question that Fenris felt deep within his own heart.

“You and Papa not leave?”

“No. We won’t leave you.” It was a question he’d desperately needed answered shortly after arriving here, and that he’d had no idea how to ask. It had taken fear, pain, and trauma before Wil and Anders had been able to tell him what he needed to hear. He couldn’t bear to let his child ever fear that she’d be left behind.

“We love you, baby, more than anything in this world. We would never leave you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You’re our daughter, and we’re your parents, and we will always take care of you.”

“OK.”

“OK.”

Then, she’d kissed his cheek, hopped off of his lap, and scampered off to find her Grammy, who had promised to let her help make cookies.

He was pulled roughly into a squeezing pair of arms, and kissed until he was breathless. Honey-colored eyes looked intently into his.

“I can’t even describe the feelings I have for you, right now,” Anders said gruffly.

“That’s alright. I feel them, too.” He sighed as his mate pressed warm kisses down the line of his neck.

That night, Anders was unusually cuddly. He was always tactile, but he was particularly so, at the moment.

“I wish we could make a baby, together,” he whispered.

“What?” He couldn’t have heard that right.

“I’d love to make a baby that was part me, and part you. To see you grow round with it, and help you deliver it.”

“You are insane.”

“I’m not. I just... don’t you wonder what it would be like?”

“No, I don’t. And, just why am I the one who would carry it?”

“I don’t know. I could carry it, if you want.”

“Well, no, you can’t, because it’s impossible. That is absolutely the strangest thing you’ve ever said. And, you’ve said strange things. That’s not... that’s not some sort of blood magic thing, is it? Is this because you’ve got a baby demon inside of you? Are you feeling maternal?”

Anders laughed. “No. To all of those. I just like to imagine it, sometimes. And, I’m not crazy. I just love you, and think you’re an amazing father. I’m perfectly happy with Leta as our only child.”

He warmed at those words. “Thank you. So are you. I still stand by my statement that you’re crazy.”

“Fair enough. I come by it honestly, from my mother. You know what she was sewing, today?”

“What?”

“An Isabela costume.”

 _“Fasta vass._ No pants, and everything?”

“I convinced her that it’s too cold to run around bottomless on Satinalia. She’s making leggings.”

“Good thinking.”

“Vati’s going to be Hawke.”

Fenris put his head back and laughed.

“This whole dress-like-characters-out-of-a-story thing is getting very involved. The way Mutti talks, about half the Village is dressing up.”

“At least we just need to be ourselves. Too bad Varric didn’t stay longer. And, we can be certain this Hawke won’t try to seduce either of us.”

“Maker’s balls, I should hope not.”

They received a letter from Varric before Satinalia. It contained an announcement that had Anders spraying his mouthful of milk across the table. Leta laughed gaily.

“Erich! I swear, sharing a table with you now, is no different from when you were Leta’s age,” Wil grumbled, blotting milk off of his plate.

“Varric’s the new Viscount of Kirkwall.”

Fenris’ milk sprayed across the table. Leta dissolved into giggles.

“That’s wonderful!” Mina said, handing out towels to everyone. “Does he wear a crown? No, sweetheart, it’s not a game. No more spitting at the table.”

“More of a coronet sort of thing,” Fenris said. “Wonder if it’s the same one that was on Dumar’s head when it was clove from his neck.”

“That’s macabre,” Wil said. “He’ll do a fine job of it.”

“There’s no one who cares more about that damned city, that’s for sure,” Anders said.

“That’s for sure!” repeated Leta.

“We’ll pray for his success at his new vocation. Many people will be counting on him,” Wil said.

“In Kirkwall? He can use all the prayers he can get.”

Although both men had misgivings about the Satinalia festival this year, it turned out to be much more fun than they’d imagined. It was fascinating to see the costumes that had been put together for the celebration. It wasn’t just one of Varric’s books that was depicted, but most of them. Hard in Hightown, and The Champion, were most popular, by far.

Mutti had put together a costume for Anders, based on his description of the robes he’d worn in Kirkwall. Fenris felt a strange sense of nostalgia, looking at him dressed as he’d been during those days. He simply wore his armor and great sword. Vati, with a smear of red paint across his nose, and a faux magic staff on his back, made Anders bend over in laughter. This one-eyed rendition of Hawke made all his lingering irritation of the real Garrett Hawke disappear.

Mina, adorably chubby in her corset and leggings, actually did a fair job as Isabela. She had the attitude down, and her pressed paper jewelry was astonishingly realistic.

Leta, uninterested in the adults’ games, was happy to wear her dragon mask, and wings to match. She ran about most of the week, jumping at people, shouting, “Rawr!”

When Schmidt showed up in fake white armor, with an ostentatious codpiece and his longbow on his back, Fenris actually felt a tinge of nostalgia. He looked nothing like the prince-turned-priest-turned-prince, but it was enough to make him miss Sebastian.

Fenris and Anders stood back, and watched the people they knew and loved pretend to be other people they had known and loved.

“I’m glad no one came as us,” Fenris said.

“Is this as weird for you, as it it for me?” Anders asked.

“To see people playing make-believe with our real life? Yes. I wish it had actually been the fantasy they think it was.”

“Wasn’t it?” Anders asked.

Fenris supposed it was, for people who hadn’t lived it. Like Varric said, any life not your own.

He pulled his life-mate to him for a deep, searching kiss. Anders smiled at him, making his belly warm.

“You know what I believe?” Fenris asked.

“What’s that, love?”

“This is all just a story. All of it, and we’re all just characters playing our parts.”

“Who’s writing this story, then?”

“The Maker, of course. He’s the greatest storyteller of all time.”

Anders grinned, and kissed him, again. “Think He’ll give us a happy ending?”

“He already did.”

fin 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it hard to believe that anyone who'd had front-row seats to the shit they witnessed during DAI would be able to just shrug it off. Sure, maybe stuff it down and try to block it... my opinion, that's all.
> 
> Mina created cosplay! And, at the age of 60, yet. ;-)
> 
> And, yes, a variation of a line from the Bard, about all the world's a stage and each of us play a part. 
> 
> I have enjoyed creating this revision. I'm prouder of it, now, than I was before. There will be no further changes, unless I spot typo's that I missed. This fic is going to stay.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this tale! If you did, please feel free to leave a comment or a kudo. They give such joy!


	40. COVER ART

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> COVER ART by @lolbatty. 
> 
> This art is my heart. This story is so important to me, and lolbatty captured the emotion and setting perfectly with this piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First view sized for mobile devices.
> 
> Second view (below) is full size.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	41. STORY ART

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> STORY ART by FarseerDri.
> 
> I had so many images in my head from this story. FarseerDri was able to convey them perfectly!
> 
> This is the same artwork which is embedded in the story, simply full-sized.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
